When Blaine Met Kurt
by estrafalaria103
Summary: The first time they meet, they hate each other. The second time they meet, they barely remember each other. The third time they meet, they become friends. And the fourth time they meet, they fall in love.
1. When Blaine Met Kurt

Kurt can't _believe_ he's agreed to do this. It's a horrible idea. Of course, driving from Lima, Ohio to New York City, in his beat-up old Navigator probably isn't a great idea, either. . .the chances of the car making it those few hundred miles isn't so hot. But at least he can blast his own music, and sing along, and revel in the fact that he's finally, _finally_ going to the city that he's been dreaming about since, oh, well, forever. The horrible part, of course, is agreeing to carpool with Rachel's boyfriend. He can barely stand Rachel, despite a shared history, and there's a little voice in his head telling him that her boyfriend has to be a hundred times worse.

And he's not endearing himself at all by being super late.

"He'll be here," Rachel assures Kurt, as he glances pointedly at his clock. "He's probably just fixing his hair. He's very particular about his hair. It's a sure sign of stardom, focusing on hair like that."

"Right," Kurt drawls. "Well, if your pretty thing doesn't get here in ten minutes, I'm leaving without him." Rachel sighs.

Fortunately (for Rachel's boyfriend, not for Kurt, because he does _not_ need a driving partner) the doors to OSU's dorms open and a short boy comes parading down. Rachel instantly squeaks, and jumps up to throw her arms around his neck. Well, Kurt thinks, looking him over, at the very least Rachel has good taste. Her boyfriend is _charming_ and dressed exquisitiely, in an olive green cardigan that brings out the green in his hazel eyes, and a pair of tight jeans that leave just enough to the imagination.

His hair is, as Rachel implied, impeccably styled. In short, the boy is absolutely gorgeous. And, Kurt's fair side admits, he and Rachel look darling together.

Still, when they proceed to make out on the steps, Kurt is getting impatient. He's been waiting for twelve minutes already, and he has a schedule. The car horn honks, long, loud, and incredibly obnoxious. Whoops. . .that wasn't on purpose. _Totally_ not on purpose.

Still, it does it's job as the boy disentangles himself from Rachel and saunters down to the car. He doesn't have any baggage, which is kind of weird. He blows a final kiss to Rachel, opens the passenger door, and hops in.

"Hi," the boy says brightly. "I'm Blaine."

Kurt puts the car in drive and pulls onto the highway before he answers. "My name's Kurt," he says. An awkward moment passes.

"So. . .how long have you known Rachel?" Blaine asks, finally. Kurt glances over at his passenger, who is all easy smile and crinkling hazel eyes.

"Since high school," he says. "We were in Glee club together."

"Really?" Blaine asks. "That's awesome. I was in my school's acappella group. We won Nationals, my senior year."

Well, Kurt thinks, this is a little more interesting. He turns to the other boy, one eyebrow quirked. "Vocal Adrenaline?" he asks. Blaine snorts.

"Gross. _Please_ don't tell me that you honestly think I could be one of those robotic lunatics. I went to Dalton. The Warblers."

Kurt grins at that, and bites at his cheek. "We beat you at Regionals my junior year. Only got second at Nationals, though."

"Small world," Blaine says. Another five minutes pass, before Kurt finally speaks again.

"So, I figure if we each take three hour shifts, we can be there in four shifts. Obviously I'm going first but. . ."

"Let's play some music," Blaine interrupts, leaning forward and turning on the radio. He shifts through the stations, finally ending on a Top 40s station that Kurt absolutely hates. "You don't mind, do you?"

Kurt does mind, actually, because Katy Perry is singing, and he absolutely _hates_ Katy Perry. But Blaine is singing along already, banging his hands on the dashboard and nodding his head. So Kurt bites his lip, and hopes that his driving partner will want to take a nap at some time, and he can pop in his iPod, which is filled with showtunes and Broadway classics.

But Blaine doesn't take a nap. He just sings along to everything on the radio, including the irritating commercial jingles. He does have a nice voice, which Kurt appreciates, but even having a nice voice can't excuse singing along to Justin Bieber. To make matters worse, halfway through Blaine's shift he pulls up in front of a greasy looking diner.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asks.

"I'm hungry," Blaine says. "Besides, it'll do us good to stretch out legs."

Kurt follows him into the restaurant, even though it's completely screwing up his schedule. He sits down across from Blaine, and skims through the menu. There is absolutely nothing there that looks appetizing, and eh thinks he would actually die rather than putting any of that crap into his body. Blaine, on the other hand, orders a burger, onion rings, fries, and two milkshakes. Kurt orders a salad.

"So, what are you planning on doing in New York?" Blaine asks, stuffing the burger in his mouth. Kurt sighs, and pushes the salad around on his plate. He'd asked for no salad dressing, just a drizzle of olive oil. Apparently a "drizzle" meant that it was drenched.

"I've got a job with Zac," Kurt says. Blaine lifts one eyebrow, and delicately dabs at his mouth before responding.

"Zac Posen?" he asks. "That's pretty impressive, for a recent graduate?" Kurt raises an eyebrow.

"You know designers?" He's surprised, because this is a guy who looks like he just stepped out of GQ, but he dated Rachel, and Rachel has possibly the worst fashion sense of any woman in the entire world. At that moment, their waitress stops by again, and he reaches out to stop her. "Excuse me," he says. "I asked for just a drizzle of olive oil. This is a salad _soup_. If you don't mind, I'd like another salad, but this time just put a pinch of pepper on it, and a little bit of olive oil on the side. Also, if you could hold the cheese, and just give me the tomatoes on a separate plate."

Both Blaine and the waitress raise their eyebrows.

"You know," Blaine says idly, after the waitress has finally brought back another plate of salad (this one made to Kurt's specifications), "you're an extremely attractive man."

Kurt almost spits out the sip of water that he'd just taken. Because Blaine is dating Rachel, and let's face it, most straight guys are so terrified of homosexuality that they feel uncomfortable even _looking_ at Kurt. "Thanks. . ." he says uncertainly. Blaine smirks a little.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Um. . .no," Kurt says. "I don't really. . .swing that way."

"Oh," Blaine says. "Got a boyfriend then."

"No."  
>"Well, why not?"<p>

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?" he asks. "I'm an out and proud gay kid living in Ohio."

"You're also very good-looking, and obviously talented if you have a job with Zac Posen," Blaine says. "I don't think it's an unreasonable question."

"No," Kurt says shortly. "I don't have a boyfriend. Actually, I've never had a boyfriend."

Blaine seems to consider this for a moment, as he sips at his milkshake. He then holds his hand out. "Give me your phone," he says. Kurt doesn't know why, but he hands his phone over. Blaine grabs it, and quickly punches in a bunch of numbers before handing it back over.

"What did you do?" Kurt asks.

"Gave you my number," Blaine says. "One of my ex-boyfriends lives in the city. I'm going to set you up."

This time Kurt _does_ splutter, and chokes on his water a little. "Ex-boyfriend?" he asks. "But you're. . ."

"With Rachel?" Blaine says, smiling charmingly. "Yeah, now. I'm bi."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "There's no such thing as bi," he says archly. "That's just a label for scared gay guys who are afraid to admit who they really are." Throughout his little speech, Blaine's face has grown progressively darker.

"So you're saying that Rachel's just my beard?"

"If you're not Rachel's beard," Kurt says off-handedly. "I've always questioned Rachel, myself."

Blaine doesn't say anything for the rest of the meal. When the check comes, he angrily takes it up to the cash register and pays for both of them. He then stalks back to the car, and starts driving off. This time, he doesn't sing along to the music.

"Listen, I'm sorry," Kurt says after an hour of uncomfortable conversation. "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just so used to gay guys using bisexuality as a shield."  
>"No, I get it," Blaine says. "I used to think that, too, but then I met Rachel and. . .she's just amazing, you know? She's, like, the female version of me. And we fit together so, so perfectly. Like last week we went to see Love Story at the Civic. We dressed as the characters, and recited all of the dialogue."<p>

Wow, Kurt thinks, that's not gay as all.

"Anyway, I'll still hook you up with Jeremiah, in New York," Blaine says. "He loves Broadway. . .he'd probably enjoy having an actual date to take with him."

"Thanks," Kurt says slowly. "You know. . .maybe you and I could catch a show, too, sometime."

"I don't think so," Blaine says, his hands tightening on the wheel. "I mean. . .two gay guys can't just be friends. Sex always gets in the way."

Kurt stares at him for a moment, his strong profile, backlit by the highway lights. Blaine's hair has started to curl at the edges, restricting the gel. His lips are full, and oh so kissable. Kurt hasn't had a ton of experience with other gay guys – or straight ones, for that matter – but as he fights an urge to grab Blaine by the lapels and kiss the living daylights out of him, he thinks that the other boy might have a point.

"Yeah," he says. "I guess that means we can't be friends. It's a shame. . .you'll be the only person I know in New York.

Xxxx

The next time Kurt sees Blaine it's at the airport, five years later. He's flying back to Ohio to visit his dad and stepmother. Dave drove him to the airport, which was incredibly sweet of him. Dave was a number of things, including rich and handsome, but he was rarely sweet. Usually when Kurt asked him to go shopping, he just grunted about there being a football game on. But this time he'd volunteered to drive all the way to Newark, and Kurt had been more than willing to take him up on it.

He spots Blaine out the corner of his eye, just a quick flash of hazel and curly hair, and Kurt panics a little. It's going to be one of those horribly awkward moments, where Kurt remembers someone, and they don't remember him, and he can still remember wanting to kiss the other boy. So he freaks out, grabs Dave's head, and kisses him.

"Excuse me," He hears, then, and he turns around. Blaine is standing right in front of them, and _God_, he looks good. He's wearing his hair curly now, and there are a pair of thick glasses over his hazel eyes. He's wearing a vest and. . .oh, yeah, Kurt's totally got a boyfriend now, so he banishes those thoughts from his head.

"I saw you and. . .do I know you?" Blaine asks, and Kurt's heart sinks. Because, of course the other boy doesn't remember him. That's kind of sickening.

"Kurt Hummel," he says. "We drove here from Lima together."

"Oh, yeah," Blaine says with a grin. "I knew you were familiar. You flying home?"

"I am," Kurt says. "Where are you headed?"

"Same," Blaine says, before glancing significantly at Dave. Kurt recovers, realizing how rude he's been, just leaving the two boys to stare at one another.

"Sorry," Kurt says, a little flustered. "Dave, this is Blaine. Blaine, this is my boyfriend, Dave."  
>"Oh, so you finally got a boyfriend!" Blaine says. Kurt winces, because it's incredibly inappropriate, but Blaine just seems so happy that he can't really blame him. "Say, whatever happened to Jeremiah?"<p>

"You know, I really have to check my bags," Kurt says. Dave is still standing there, and this is an _incredibly_ awkward conversation to be having in front of his boyfriend, even if Dave _is_ fighting against a grin. Blaine apologizes, as dapper as ever, and heads off toward security.

"Sorry about that," Kurt says. Dave just shrugs, leans down, and kisses Kurt again.

"Have a good trip, sweetcheeks," he says. Kurt rolls his eyes good-naturedly. He _hates_ that nickname, but Dave loves it. Oh, compromise. The things he'll do for love. Or if not love. . .well, a nice apartment on Park Avenue and a walk in closet big enough to fit all of his fashion.

When he finds his seat on the plane, he's not surprised that it's directly next to Blaine. Of course it is. The universe just loves him that way. He slides in, and tries to smile when Blaine grins at him, but it's nearly impossible, because Blaine's got a five o'clock shadow, and it is beyond sexy. When Dave doesn't shave he just starts to look like a hairy bear, but Blaine. . .he shakes his head.

"So, how's Rachel?" he asks. Blaine raises his eyebrow.

"Don't you know?" he asks. "I mean, you guys have known each other for ever. You were great friends."

"Frenemies, really," Kurt admits. "I haven't talked to her at all since I moved to New York, unfortunately."

"Oh," Blaine says. "Well, we broke up, but we still keep in touch. She's doing well. Told me she just met someone new."

"Oh," Kurt says. "I'm . . . sorry you broke up. Although, honestly, I'm not all that surprised."

"Really?" Blaine asks, and chuckles a little. "Because you don't believe in bisexuality." Kurt doesn't answer. He wonders how long the other boy is going to hold this against him.

"Well, you might have been right," Blaine says. "You were right about me, anyway. Turns out I am gay. 100% gay."

Kurt tries to hide his smile.

"It's okay, though," Blaine muses. "I actually met someone new."

"Really?" Kurt asks. Blaine's shoots him a half smile, a little twist of the lips and sparkling hazel eyes.

"Well, no," he admits. "Someone old, actually. I started getting coffee with Jeremiah, and then coffee turned to dinner, and dinner turned to dating and. . .well. . ." we're engaged."

Kurt doesn't think his eyebrows can raise any higher. How is it possible that Blaine, who wasn't even willing to admit that he liked guys better than girls, is getting married before he, Kurt Hummel of the amazing fashion sense?

"Oh," Kurt says, finally. "Well. . .congratulations. I guess."

"Thanks," Blaine says. "It looks like you've found someone, too."

"Yeah," Kurt says. "Yeah, Dave's. . .Dave's really great. . ."

xxx

Five years later, Kurt is at lunch with his ladies. It's their daily dirt session. Kurt and Santana are trying desperately not to roll their eyes while Mercedes tries to explain to them why this time, finally, her secret lover is going to leave his wife for her.

"He's only with her for the image," she insists. "And because Quinn is pregnant."

"Exactly," Santana points out. "Quinn is pregnant. With Puck's baby. Which means, no matter what he tells you, he's had sex with her since meeting you."

Mercedes sighs, and puts her hands in her hands. "Oh my God. He's never going to leave her, is he?"

"No," Kurt and Santana say in unison. "Never."  
>"This," Santana says drolly. "Is why you should date women. They're so much easier."<p>

Kurt and Mercedes both look at her with identically disgusted expressions. "Ew," they both say. Santana rolls her eyes.

"Hos before bros, yo," she says with a grin. This time only Kurt laughs.

"That's it," Mercedes says firmly. "I just need to get a hold of my inner diva. Shopping trip?"

"Absolutely," Kurt says. Santana shakes her head.

"Sorry," she says. "I told Brit I'd take the stupid cat to the vet today. I don't think anything's wrong with it. . .other than a ridiculous case of stupid, but Brit thinks it might actually be sick." Her gaze goes soft when she talks about her girlfriend, and Kurt grins.

One hour later, he finds himself in the Bloomingdale's dressing room, waiting for Mercedes to pop out and show him whatever fabulous outfit she's trying on. He knows that she'll still go back to Noah Puckerman, the minute the dick calls, but he's trying to do this new supportive thing. Ever since he and Dave split up, he's trying to reprioritize, all around him. The door creaks and Kurt looks up.

But it's not Mercedes dressing room, but the one next door, and Blaine steps out, wearing a bathing suit that's slung so low it should be illegal. He has a full beard going on, which should disgust Kurt, but it looks absolutely stunning.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks. Kurt forces his eyes up from the other man's hip bones (_God_, he just wants to lick that strip of skin).

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt says. "It's been a while."

"Yeah," Blaine says. "You look good."

That, of course, is the moment that Mercedes finally decides to step out of her own changing room, still clad in her original outfit. "I didn't really like. . .oooh," she says, spotting Blaine. She licks her finger and holds it up. "Damn, white boy, you fine," she drawls. Blaine grins.

"Thanks," he says. "I'm Blaine."

"Mercedes," she says. Kurt glares at her, trying to communicate several things using just his eyes. Trying to communicate "he's gay" and "he's married" and "he's mine." Clearly, Mercedes understands one of the messages, because she glances away from Blaine, and pulls her phone out.

"Shit," She hisses, and looks at Kurt. "Puck just called. I've got to go meet her."

Kurt isn't sure whether she's made up the excuse to leave him alone with Blaine, or if she's serious. He dearly hopes it's the first one. Either way, she's out the door and headed down the steps immediately.

"She's. . .nice?" Blaine says. Kurt grins fondly.

"She's one of my best friends," he says. "Anyway. . .we were supposed to get coffee after this, though evidently I've been dumped. . ."

"Hey, I'll get coffee with you," Blaine says, sounding almost eager. "Just let me change."

Kurt resists the urge to tell the other man that he looks just fine as is. But Blaine has apparently learned in the past ten years how to change quickly, and they're across the street, Blaine with a bag in hands, in under fifteen minutes.

"One medium drip and. . ." Blaine looks expectantly over at Kurt.

"Grande non-fat, no-whip latte with two shots of espresso and just a sprinkle of cinnamon," Kurt says. The barista stares at him for a moment, before nodding her head. " "8.70," she says. Kurt starts to pull out his wallet.

"I've got this one," Blaine says, with a charming smile. Kurt's lips twitch back at him. They get their coffee and sit down.

"So. . ." Blaine says slowly. "How's it going. How's. . .um. . .Dave?"

"I don't know," Kurt says honestly. "We broke up a few months ago."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," Kurt says. "Me, too." He takes a sip of his latte, trying to calm down his heart. But Blaine is just sitting there, staring at him with compassionate hazel eyes. Before Kurt knows it, he's spilling his entire heart to the other man.

"Four years," he says. "Four years. We're together for four years, and marriage still isn't an option. We'd always said it was so great, what we had. . .the way we could just take off at a moment's notice for Rome, or have sex on the kitchen counter without worrying about kids, or a ring getting in the way or. . .but here's the thing, Blaine. We never did fly off to Rome."

"And the kitchen counter?" Blaine asks, his eyes the very picture of innocence.

"Not once," Kurt admits.

"You're not missing out," Blaine says. "It's kind of hard and uncomfortable. Especially if you've sprung for the granite."

"Anyway," Kurt says. "After four years I realized that I wanted the wedding, and the rings and. . .and maybe even the kids. But enough about me. What about you? How's Jeremiah?"

At this, Blaine's eyes start to fill with tears. "I. . .he. . .we're separated," he says, although Kurt notices that he stills has his wedding ring on his finger. "He. . .um. . .he left me. For some douche in the IRS."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt says, reaching across and clasping the other man's hand. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Blaine says, but his voice is rough. He rubs his fist across his eyes hurriedly. "I mean, it's . . .it's not fine, but it's over, anyway."

"Hey," Kurt says. "It's fine. He didn't deserve you, anyway."

One week later they meet again, for coffee, and Kurt realizes that somehow they've become friends.

One month later Blaine knows his coffee order.

Xxx

They're walking in Central Park one day. It's the middle of the afternoon. Kurt knows that fall is Blaine's favorite season. The other man loves the way the colors turn colors, and the way the air turns crisp and bright. Kurt's a fan of winter, because there's something incredibly romantic about the snow coating the city. Blaine's still wearing Jeremiah's ring on his finger, but they've signed the divorce papers, and Kurt has a date that night. They've fallen into a comfortable friendship of coffee together, and occasional trips to Broadway, and dinners that seem like dates but never are.

Blaine's in a particularly playful mood, stopping to pet every dog that they see, and speaking in a ridiculous accent.

"Waiter, there's too much pepper on my poppycosh," he says. Kurt giggles.

"You sound absolutely ridiculous," he says.

"But I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie."

Kurt's in the middle of another fit of laughter when he sees the clock, and realizes that he only has two hours to get to his date, and he hasn't even begun to put together his outfit.

"So, Breadstix tonight?" Blaine asks, and Kurt feels a real wash of regret.

"I can't," he says. "I have a date tonight."

"That's great!" Blaine says, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Good to know that you're getting back on the horse."

"Yeah," Kurt says, staring at his friend. Blaine looks somehow lost, his mouth forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach to his eyes. Kurt reaches out and grabs his hand. "You should try it, too," he says.

"What? Riding a horse?"

"Dating," Kurt says. "You're never going to get over Jeremiah if you don't at least try."

Blaine snorts. "You know," he says. "This is why I didn't like you at first. You're so pushy."

"I didn't like you at first, either," Kurt says. It's a total lie, but the other boy doesn't need to know that. "Anyway. You're going on a date. There's this guy at the office who's been trying to hit on my all month. You'd be doing me a favor, getting him off my back."

"Win win, huh?" Blaine asks, and this time his eyes do crinkle in that familiar way. "Who says he'll even like me?"

"Please," Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "You're absolutely gorgeous. He works in fashion design and has a crush on me. He obviously appreciates aesthetics."

Blaine laughs. "You know," he muses," you might be the first beautiful man I haven't wanted to sleep with."

Kurt's heart stutters at that a bit, and he's not sure whether it's because Blaine called him beautiful, or because he basically admitted that they would never get together. Which is ridiculous, because Kurt has a date, anyway.

They meet the next week for their regular coffee date. Kurt describes, in excrutiating detail, the way in which his date ate with his hands, wiped them on his jeans, and seemed to think that licking was an appropriate substitute for kissing. Not surprisingly, there wasn't going to be a second date.

Blaine, on the other hand, described how his date was perfect. Except that they went to Jeremiah's favorite restaurant, and the guy did ads for the Gap, which was where Jeremiah worked back in college, and he wore the same cologne as Jeremiah.

"That's rough," Kurt says. "Still, I'm proud of you for trying."

"Yeah," Blaine agrees. "At least the sex was good."

Kurt stares at him, absolutely shocked. "Wait. . .you had a horrible time, but you still had sex with him?"

"Well, yeah," Blaine admits, apparently as surprised as Kurt. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because. . .well. . ." Kurt is floundering. He doesn't really know how to admit that he hasn't slept with anyone since Dave. . .that in fact, he hadn't slept with anyone else before. Blaine obviously picks it up, though, and he settles his hand on Kurt's shoulder. The warmth seeps through the layers.

"Hey," he says gently. "It's fine. You and I are different people. I'm tactile and I need. . .I need to be with people like that."

"Whereas I think the most romantic thing is the gentle brush of fingers," Kurt says. Blaine grins.

"Sometimes," he says. "I just like a good fuck. You're different. . .I don't think you could fuck someone if you tried."

"Excuse me?"

Blaine reaches up, and cups Kurt's face gently between his hands. "You, Kurt Hummel, are incapable of doing anything other than making love."

Kurt tries to ignore the way his face feels cold when Blaine takes his hands away.

Xxx

"So, who are you taking to Santana's New Year's Eve party?" Mercedes asks. It's just after Christmas, and they're strolling down Fifth Avenue, just enjoying the lights that are still up and window shopping.

"I don't know," Kurt muses. "Maybe I'll take Blaine. . .I don't think he's found himself another fuck buddy yet."

"I bought myself flowers," Mercedes suddenly admits. "I bought a huge bouquet, and wrote out a note. I wanted Puck to see them, so he'd think I was being courted."

Kurt sighs. "Oh, Mercedes. . .you've got to get over him."

"I know, I know," she says. "He's never going to leave her. Never. He told me that he was going to spend New Year's Eve with me, but then he had to cancel. His daughter is having a slumber party and he has to stay home to supervise."

"You're too good for him," Kurt says.

"I know," Mercedes agrees. "But he's just got those amazing arms. . ."

That afternoon, Kurt meets Blaine for dinner at the Chinese place just a block from his place.

"Do you have plans for New Year's Eve?" Kurt asks, abruptly, and out of the blue. As usual, Blaine waits until his mouth is free of food before he answers.

"Not really," he admits.

"My friend Santana is having a party," Kurt says. "You should come."

"She know any hot gay guys?" Blaine asks playfull. Kurt grins, a wry little smile. "Seriously, Blaine? You _just_ broke up with . . .what's his name, Thad? And you're already looking for another boyfriend?"

"Not a boyfriend," Blaine says chipperly. "Just a good lay."

Kurt cringes. "Just because you're gorgeous doesn't mean that every gay guy on earth wants to get with you," he says. "Some people actually want a little romance in their lives."

"I suck at romance," Blaine admits. "That was always Jeremiah's biggest complaint about me. That I thought cheese was a substitute for true romance. You know what I am good at, though?"

"Don't be crude," Kurt says primly. "Besides, let's face it. . .it doesn't take much to get a guy off."

"Oh, come on," Blaine says. "What would you know? You haven't had sex in. . .what. . .six months?"

"So?" Kurt asks. "Doesn't mean I can't get it up as quickly as another guy."

"Really?" Blaine asks. "You can just get it up, without anyone turning you on?"

"Easy," Kurt says, and tries to ignore the way that his heart is pounding in his chest. Blaine glances around them, at the other people in the restaurant, before scotching over next to Kurt.

"All right," He says, whispering huskily into Kurt's ear. His breath passes warm and wet over Kurt's neck. "Prove it. I want to see an erection in one minute."

Kurt's eyes pop over, and he turns to glance at Blaine, because that is just beyond inappropriate. But Blaine is just sitting there, triangular eyebrows lifted innocently. Blaine _knows_ that Kurt is uncomfortable about sex, but he's still sitting there teasing him.

"Face it, Kurt," Blaine says. "I turn guys on. You can't get hard that quick without attraction.

"Fine," Kurt says. Baby penguin or not, he wants to prove the other man hard. Exactly sixty seconds later, he grabs Blaine's hand and presses it hard against his own crotch. Blaine whispers appreciatively.

"Kurt, babe, you are packing," he says. Kurt giggles a little. He doesn't tell Blaine that he'd been half hard the minute their thighs touched.

They meet later that night at Santana's. Kurt notices, appreciatively, that Blaine's shaved for the first time since breaking up with Jeremiah. They spend the night sipping champagne and dancing together.

"This is nice," Blaine says as they sway side to side to the bad music. "We should make a promise. If we're both single next New Year's, we'll spend it together."

"Sounds like a plan," Kurt says with a sigh. He leans his head on Blaines' shoulder, which is a little awkward since the other boy is shorter than him. Blaine smells good. Like, really good.

They escape to the balcony mere minutes before midnight, and stare out at the city.

"Sometimes I still can't believe I'm here," Kurt admits. "I spent my whole childhood waiting to escape to New York City. This city is just unreal."

"It's beautiful," Blaine agrees. Kurt can't tell if he's staring at the Chrysler building, or at Kurt's own profile. From inside, they hear people counting down to midnight. His stomach flipflops a little uncomfortably in his stomach. He wonders if this will be the moment when everything changes, when Blaine and he finally take that final step from just friends to something more.

But at midnight, Blaine just clutches him into a tight hug.

"You know," Kurt whispers into his shoulder. "You're my best friend. You could have kissed me. It's good luck."

Blaine chuckles a little. "Kurt, I. . .I really, _really_ care about you. I don't want to mess this up."

Kurt kind of wonders what he means by "this." But later that night he sees Blaine drunkenly make out with Tina Cohen-Chang, before babbling that he might be bi after all, and then he has a pretty good idea of what that is.

Xxx

"I looked at his receipt from American Express," Mercedes admits. "He spent $4,000 on a sapphire ring. I thought it was for me, but the Quinn came into the office, and she was wearing it on her finger."

"Wait," Kurt mused. "You were going through his things? What would he have done if he'd caught you?"

"He's never going to leave her," Mercedes sighs. "Never. I don't know why I can't just give him up. I should just find myself another man. A better man."

Suddenly Kurt has an idea. It's a brilliant idea, a perfect idea, and the words are out before he even has the chance to stop himself.

"You should go out with Blaine," he says.

"Blaine? As in, _your_ Blaine?"

"We're just friends," Kurt corrects her.

"But isn't he gay?"

"Maybe," Kurt admits. "But he dated Rachel for a year and a half, and he made out with Tina at New Year's, and he slept with some random other girl just last week, so you've got a shot."

"I don't know. . ." Mercedes sighs. "You're my best friend, and you've been crushing on him for months."

"Have not," Kurt says. "Besides, it's a brilliant idea. We're all friends, and this way we'll keep being friends, instead of drifting apart when we get into relationships, the way everyone does."

So it is that in one week's time, Kurt finds himself going out to dinner with Blaine, Mercedes, and Sam Evans, a friend of Blaine's from work. Blaine insists that Sam is gay (he would know, since they'd slept together Sam's second week on the job).

"So, what do you think of Patti Lupone?" Kurt asks. Sam just gapes at him.

"Uh. . .who's that?" he asks.

"Only the greatest diva of the Broadway stage," Kurt sighs.

"Please," Blaine says, rolling his eyes. "She doesn't even begin to compare to Liza."

"These are delicious mashed potatotes," Mercedes says, in a valiant effort to keep the conversation going. She directs her comment toward Blaine, but it's Sam who answers.

"Tell me about it!" he says enthusiastically. "But then, I just love potatotes. Anything you do with them, they're always great. Baked, sliced, au gratin, French fries. . ."

"Tater tots," Mercedes suggests, and Sam's face lights up.

"I _love_ tots!" he says. Kurt glances at Blaine, who has one eyebrow lifted. Kurt's getting seriously annoyed, because it seems like every single gay guy in the city has finally decided to go bi.

Xxx

Four months later, they're in a weird, second hand shop, looking for a wedding gift for Mercedes and Sam. Blaine is flitting around like a five year old, excitedly picking up basketball hoops, and duck phones, and old OSU jackets.

"We're here for 'cedes and Sam," Kurt reminds him. "We can go shopping for you, later, babe."

"Oh. My. God," Blaine breathes out, dropping the sparkly hula hoop that he'd been holding. "That's it." He walks, almost in a dream-like state, over to an old karaoke machine. "We have to get this for her. We just have to."

Kurt actually considers it, because Mercedes does love to sing. But then Blaine has turned it on, and is holding up a microphone.

"Sing with me?" he begs. Kurt hesitates, because Blaine is so Top 40s, and it sometimes drives him crazy. But it's a different song playing now, and Kurt can't help but join in.

"_The power lines are down, and I am all alone, But I don't really care at all, not answering my phone,"_

Their voices harmonize together, perfectly. It's like they're meant to be singing together. Kurt glances up, and his eyes meet Blaine. For one moment he thinks there's something, there, a spark, _something_. But then Blaine glances to the side, and his expression suddenly closes in. Kurt glances over, too.

There's a pair of young men walking toward them, one tall and nerdy, the other shorter, with flowing blond hair. Kurt doesn't recognize either of them.

"Hello, Blaine," the shorter, better-looking one says. "How are you doing?"

"Hi, Jeremiah," Blaine says. "I'm doing well. You?"

Kurt stares. _This_ is Jeremiah? Blaine's high school sweetheart? The guy Blaine had volunteered to set him up with? The man who still had a ring on Blaine's finger? Well, Kurt thinks, at least he's cute.

"I'm doing very well," Jeremiah says. "You've met my husband, right?"

"Right," Blaine says, all dapper charm and perfect manners. Kurt knows him, though, knows that it's a façade and that inside he's crumbling.

"Blaine, sweetheart," Kurt says, the endearment feeling natural on his lips. "We really have to go. Otherweise we'll be. . .um. . .late. . ."

"Right," Blaine says, and the smile that he flashes at Kurt is relieved and thankful. "Nice seeing you again, Jeremiah, but we really do have to run."

They leave then, neither glancing back. Blaine doesn't say anything as they hop on the subway, and he's still silent when they walk in to Sam and Mercedes new place. He just throws open the door, and marches up to Sam.

"Why are you getting married?" he asks. "Do you want to be unhappy? Do you want to have your heart broken? Because that's what happens. That's what marriage does."

"What the fuck?" Sam asks.

"Blaine, honey, calm down," Kurt attempts, but Blaine ignores him. He just gestures around the apartment, which is filled with cardboard boxes, since Sam is planning on moving in to Mercedes.

"You're leaving your apartment. You _love_ this apartment. You remember when we moved in? Remember when we got drunk watching the Patriots win the Superbowl? And you're going to give it up, and then she's going to _dump_ you and you're going to be stuck with nothing."

When he finishes his tirade he turns and marches out of the apartment. Kurt sighs, and looks apologetically back at Sam and Mercedes. "He ran into Jeremiah," he attempts to explain, before following his best friend out.

Blaine is leaning against the front door to the brownstone, his arms crossed and his dark eyebrows low over his eyes. Kurt sighs, and places a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder.

"You've really got to stop bottling things up," Kurt says gently. "And then exploding, later. It's not healthy."

"Oh, really?" Blaine snorts. "You're going to try and tell me about not healthy? I'm not the one who broke up with my boyfriend a year ago, and hasn't even _tried_ to get over him."

"That's not fair," Kurt says. He refuses to lose his temper, though. He knows that Blaine is itching to get into a fight. It's just the way the other man works. He tries so hard to be perfect and charming all the time, and then when he loses it, he loses it big. "I have tried."

"Really?" Blaine asks. "Have you even slept with anyone since breaking up with Dave?"

"What?" Kurt asks incredulously, because that is just crazy. Blaine _knows_ how he is. "Are you trying to say that I have to sleep with someone to get over him?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt," Blaine says.

"Yeah, well you've done enough sleeping around for both of us," Kurt snorts. "Seriously, you're going to have to move to L.A., because you've fucked almost every woman and man in New York."

"I haven't fucked you," Blaine points out.

"Fine," Kurt says. "But it doesn't seem like that's helped you get over Jeremiah. So no, I won't sleep with someone until I'm in _love_ with them, and that's good enough for me."

He doesn't really want to argue anymore, so he runs upstairs and slams the door shut. Blaine can figure out his own ride home.

Xxx

Two weeks later Kurt gets a call from Rachel, inviting him to her and Finn's wedding. He immediately calls Blaine, and the two go out to coffee. Apparently, the hilarity in Kurt's stepbrother marrying Blaine's ex-girlfriend is enough to get them over their fight.

Thank goodness, Kurt thinks. It had been torture trying to survive without his best friend.

Xxx

Two months later, Kurt receives a wedding invitation in the mail. It's for Dave's wedding. He instantly dissolves into tears, which is stupid, because it's been almost two years. Besides, he'd never really _been_ in love with Dave. . .it had just been convenient, and nice, beause he'd never had a boyfriend.

Still, though, it _hurts_. Because the entire reason they'd broken up was because Kurt wanted to get married, and Dave didn't. And then, less than two years later, Dave's going to be walking down the aisle, with some other guy. He thinks about calling Mercedes, but she's still busy planning her wedding with Sam, and is too euphoric to be ruined. So Kurt calls Blaine.

His best friend is over in less than an hour. Kurt is an absolute mess. His hair is ruffled, and he hasn't done his skin care regime. But this is Blaine, and he doesn't have to impress Blaine, because they're best friends. So he answers the door in his robe and slippers, holding a box of tissues.

"Hey, babe," Blaine says. "How you doing?"

"Not so good," Kurt sniffles. "Horrible, really."

They go in to Kurt's room, and sit down on the bed. Kurt tells Blaine about the invitation, and about Dave, and about how all he really wants to do is plan a wedding. . .a really perfect wedding, with classy flowers and no baby's breath. Nothing like the tacky monstrosity that Mercedes is insisiting on having.

"Its my own fault," Kurt finally wails. "I'm too high-maintenance."

"You have good taste," Blaine says.

"I'm difficult."

"High standards."

"I'm impossible to live with."

"It's a challenge," Blaine says tenderly, rubbing one calloused thumb across Kurt's cheek, brushing away a tear. Kurt gulps in a hurried breath.

"I'm addicted to coffee."

"That much is true," Blaine chuckles. "You just sit here. I'll go put on a pot."

And then Blaine does something insane. He leans forward and kisses Kurt on the mouth. It's just a peck, really, nothing, but it's enough to make Kurt's eyes widen, and his mouth part. Blaine looks equally surprised, pulling back just a bit. Kurt bites his lower lip.

"Sorry," Blaine laughs a little. "I should. . .I should go get that coffee."

"Don't bother," Kurt sighs, leaning forward and catching the other boys lips with his own.

Xxx

Kurt wakes up with a smile on his face. He stretches. His muscles are sore, exhausted, but it feels good. He props himself up on one elbow, and peers at Blaine. The other boy is still sleeping, and he looks absolutely delicious, with his long, dark eyelashes splayed across his face. Kurt can't help it. . .he leans over and kisses the other boy on the nose, before getting up and heading to the kitchen to put on the coffee.

He's humming under his breath, trying to decide what to make for breakfast, when Blaine stumbles out of the bedroom. He's already dressed, and running a hand through his curly hair.

"Hey," he says. Kurt grins up at him.

"Hey yourself," he says. "Coffee's almost ready, and then I was going to make coffee."

"Right, thanks," Blaine says, but his face is unreadable. "Actually, um. . .Kurt, I'm really sorry, I've got to get to work. But I'd really like to have dinner with you. Have dinner with me? Breadstix tonight? We can talk."

Kurt's heart sinks. Talk. Right. That can't be good. Plus, it's a Sunday, so there's no way that Blaine actually has to work. He doesn't say that, though, just returns to his fridge and begins rummaging around, even though he's already found the eggs.

"Sounds good," he mumbles to his milk and grapes. "Just send me a text."

He doesn't pull his head out of the fridge until he hears the door click. He instantly grabs his phone, and dials Mercedes.

"Sup?" she asks, her voice sleepy. Kurt sighs, relieved. Good old, dependable Mercedes, answering the phone.

"You'll never believe who I found in my bed this morning."

"Oh my God, Kurt, you finally slept with someone!" Mercedes sounds ridiculously excited about it.

"Yeah. . .well. . .it was Blaine," Kurt says. This time Mercedes _does_ squeal. Actually squeals.

"I knew it!" she exclaims. "I knew he liked you, and you've been in love with him for so long. . .oh, Kurt, I'm so happy for you!"

"Yeah, well, don't be," Kurt says bitterly. "He already regrets it. It was a huge mistake."

"Oh, honey. . .do you want to grab brunch?"

"No," Kurt sighs. "The wedding's tomorrow and. . .I'll see you there."

He spends the entire day crying and trying to fix his blotchy skin. He doesn't' know why. He realizes, with a start, that he's totally over Dave, and he's over the wedding, but that he's not over Blaine. And Blaine and he weren't even dating. . .it was ridiculous. He doesn't get a text all afternoon. At seven, he orders in Chinese, puts _Casablanca_ in his DVD player, and grabs a bottle of red wine.

Xxx

The wedding is beautiful, despite Mercedes horrible taste in color. Kurt tries to ignore the way that his stomach wriggles when he walks down the aisle, and sees Blaine standing at the other end. He tries to ignore the fact that he wants this to be _his_ wedding, that he wants to see Blaine waiting for him, instead of standing slightly behind Sam. He tries to ignore how handsome Blaine looks in that tux, tries to ignore the way that Blaine's face is clear and worry free.

He tries to ignore Blaine at the reception, after, but it's hard to do. He's _everywhere_, charming the old ladies, and grabbing food for Sam's relatives, and smiling and just being so dapper. And he keeps glancing at Kurt with those beautiful hazel eyes. It's too much, really, so Kurt mumbles an excuse to Mercedes, and walks into the hallway. He needs a minute alone, just one minute without feeling like his heart is being twisted in half.

Blaine, however, destroys all of that. He follows Kurt outside.

"Can we. . .can we talk?" he asks hesitantly. Kurt sighs, and refuses to look at him.

"I thought. . ." he shudders a little. "I thought that when we slept together, it meant something."

"It was just sex," Blaine says gently.

"Not to me," Kurt says.

"Kurt I. . .I didn't go there, meaning to sleep with you. But you were just sitting there, and your eyes were so big and blue, and your lips were so pink. . .and you kept making these _noises_, and they were so sexy, those little whimpers, and you were so beautiful. . ."

"So you had pity sex with me?" Kurt asks. "Is that what you're telling me?"

Blaine shakes his head. "I'm telling you. . .I"m really bad at romance, Kurt. I don't want to mess us up."

Kurt snorts, and throws his nose up in the air. "Really? Well guess what, Mr. Dapperpants, you did."

He strides back into the reception hall, nose held high. He's just in time, too, because Sam is standing and holding up his champagne glass. A click of the door behind Kurt tells him that Blaine has entered the room.

"I would like to have a toast, to Kurt and Blaine," Sam says. "Thank God that neither Mercedes nor I was attracted to either of them, or we wouldn't be here today."

Blaine chuckles a little at that, and nudges Kurt in the shoulder.

Kurt ignores him and stomps away.

Xxx

He doesn't talk to Blaine for a week, and it _hurts_. It doesn't help that Blaine keeps leaving him cute text messages, and messages on his voicemail. It doesn't help when he comes home one afternoon to see Blaine sitting outside his apartment, with his guitar in his lap. It doesn't help that Mercedes is worried about him, and Santana keeps asking who he's going to take to her New Year's Eve party. It doesn't help that he has to carry a Christmas tree home himself, remembering how Blaine had done it the year before. It doesn't help that nobody orders coffee for him. It certainly doesn't help that, against all odds, some band has done a cover of _Candles_ and it nows plays incessantly on the radio.

Blaine starts leaving little serenades on his voicemail, and it's actually getting kind of annoying. A little bit because Kurt keeps having to delete the messages, but also because Blaine doesn't seem to pay any attention to the lyrics he sings. Some of the songs are break-up songs, some are love songs, one is a downright filthy sex song. He sings Disney songs, once, and _Baby, It's Cold Outside_.

That's when Kurt finally gives in and picks up the phone. "Hello," he says.

"Oh. . .oh, Kurt, hi!" Blaine says, sounding excited. Kurt can just picture him, hazel eyes wide open, tail practically wagging. "What's up?"

"What do you want, Blaine?"

"Nothing. . ." the other voice is quiet now, sounding almost a little uncertain. It doesn't sound like Blaine at all. "I just. . .I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Oh," Kurt says. "Well. . .thanks. I'm sorry, too."

"Yeah. . ." there's another uncomfortable silence, and Kurt considers hanging up. He's about to, when Blaine finally speaks again.

"What. . .what are you doing for New Year's Eve? Because last year we said. . .that is, if we were both single, we were going to. . .would you like to?"

"I can't do this," Kurt says. "I've been in love with you for two years, and I can't just be another notch on your bedpost, Blaine. I can't. I'm sorry, but I love myself too much to let you break my heart _again_. Good-bye."

Blaine doesn't call him again.

Xxx

It's New Year's Eve, and Kurt's at Santana's New Year's Eve party. It's absolutely horrible. Santana keeps shoving every gay guy at him, and Brittany keeps trying to get him to interrogate her cat. Mercedes and Sam are there, and that's nice, but they're still so sickeningly in love that it's a little painful to watch. He knows, objectively, that the party is just as good as it was the year before, but it seems more tawdry, somehow. Everyone is just getting drunk, and grinding up against everyone. Is this it? He wonders. Is there really no romance left in the world, anywhere? It's all just lust and sex. . .

"I'm going home," he tells Mercedes. She frowns at him.

"You'll never catch a taxi," she says, and Kurt knows she has a point. So he dances with the guy in the tweed jacket, and takes another sip of champagne. He considers calling Finn, or his dad, but they both have dates. He glances up at the clock and sighs.

It's almost midnight, and it's just too depressing to be in the middle of the party and have no one to kiss. So he goes up to Mercedes again.

"I'm really leaving," he says. "I can't. . .I just can't be here, and not have anyone to kiss at midnight. I'll just walk."

"I'll kiss you," Sam says, and Mercedes nods eagerly.

"It's fine," Kurt says wryly. "I'm a big boy. I'll call you tomorrow."

Leaving is easier said than done, apparently, and everyone's gathering to watch the ball drop by the time Kurt's reached the door. He just wants to leave, just wants to be gone, because it's all too depressing. He reaches out the door to open the door, but it's flung open before he gets the chance.

Blaine is standing there, and he looks _awful_. His eyes are shadowed, and his hair is sweaty. He's panting a little, and his nose and cheeks are bright red, probably from the cold. His jacket isn't buttoned, and he's panting just a little. He looks awful, but as bad as he looks, he's still the most beautiful man Kurt's ever seen.

"What are you doing here?"

"You move me, Kurt," Blaine says. "Not being able to talk to you. . .it was awful."

"That's nice," Kurt says, and tries to shove him out of the way before he bursts in to tears. "Excuse me."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. I'm crazy about you."

Kurt freezes, his back to Blaine. He should just leave, he tells his feet. Keep walking. Because for two straight years, Blaine's been breaking his heart, and he shouldn't put up with it anymore. His traitorous feet don't listen to him, however, and he stays firmly planted in the doorway.

"What?"

"I love you. Say something."

"What. . .what do you want me to say?"

Blaine doesn't respond. Kurt turns around, and has to catch his breath for a moment, because Blaine's eyes are so wide. The dancing lights, which make everything look distorted and dirty, somehow make Blaine's eyes even more beautiful.

"I have to go," Kurt says, the words getting stuck in his throat. "I'm . . .I'm sorry, Blaine. I knows it's New Year's Eve, and I know you're lonely, but you can't just. . .you can't. . .this isn't how it works."

"I don't _know_ how it works, Kurt," Blaine says. "I'm awful at romance, and I don't know how to fix this."

"I don't know, either," Kurt says. And he doesn't. He just knows that Blaine is his best friend, and he wants that back desperately. But he also feels betrayed, and used. He's only slept with two men in his entire life, and it felt _awful_ when Blaine left in the morning and didn't call. It made him feel like. . .like a prostitute, or something, and he can't get over that.

He can't get over that he'd made love, and Blaine had just had sex.

"All I know is that I love you," Blaine says, reaching out and grabbing Kurt by the bicep. "I love the way that you don't show your teeth when you smile. I love how your eyes change from blue to grey to green, depending on whether you're happy or sad or being bitchy. I love how it takes you ten minutes to say a coffee order, and I love how you're so delighted when I pay, even though I pay every time. I love that I can talk to you about anything. I love how our hands fit together like they're meant to be, and I love the way you always make sure that my shoes match my belt and my scarf matches my socks. It's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came because you're my best friend, and I can't live without you. I came because I took out my credit card to buy dinner, and I saw a picture of you. And I realized. . .there you are. I've been looking for you forever. I've spent my whole life looking for you Kurt, and when I found you, I was too stupid to realize it, but now that I have, I want to start forever again. With you.

And then Kurt's eyes are brimming over, and he can barely even talk. He just grabs onto Blaine and pulls him close, and whispers in his ears. "I keep trying to get rid of you," he hisses. "After we drove to New York, and after that flight to Lima. But I just. . .I can't say good-bye to you."

Distantly, he realizes that in the background everyone is counting down to midnight. Blaine gently lifts his chin, and kisses him.

There are fireworks.

No, really, there are, from New Year's Eve. Everyone is cheering, and hugging, and suddenly the party doesn't seem tawdry or tacky at all, but rather glamorous and sophisticated and perfect.

Because Blaine loves him. And he loves Blaine.

Xxx

It takes five months to plan the wedding. Blaine jokes about it, then. How it only took them five months to get together. Kurt corrects him, with a pert "actually, twelve years and five months," but he's close enough. The wedding is perfect, with white roses and not a touch of baby's breath. Kurt spends all five months on it, and he feels incredibly proud.

Until he's walking down the aisle toward his fiancé. Because it all melts away, then. The flowers, the color scheme, the venue. . .all he sees, are smiling hazel eyes and a future of forever.


	2. 10 Things Kurt Hates About Blaine

**A/N: So, obviously this is not a sequal to When Blaine Met Kurt. Instead, it is a take-off of another romantic comedy: 10 Things I Hate About You. I enjoyed doing the first one so much, and it got such a great response that I thought. . .hey, why **_**not**_** rip off the plot of some other movies and put Kurt and Blaine into them? I'll do at least one more, but let me know if there are any other rom-coms that you think would work well. I'm definitely open to suggestions!**

Rachel stares up at William McKinley high school wearily. It looks almost identical to her previous school, which means that she knows exactly what she'll find inside: high school clichés, forced into their appropriate, stereotyped boxes, and absolutely no appreciation for a talented, beautiful young ingénue who is destined for greatness on the Broadway stage. Yes, she realizes with a sigh, she knows exactly what is waiting for her.

She signs in to the office, and is directed to the guidance counselor's office. When Rachel walks in, she is surprised to see that the guidance counselor (Ms. Pillsbury, says the placard) is busily scrubbing at her door. She's cute, and young, Rachel realizes.

"Hello!" Ms. Pillsbury greets her, when she finally looks up. "Sorry about that. . .pesky bit of dirt, there. How are you doing?"

"All right," Rachel says softly. "A little nervous."

"Of course you are," Ms. Pillsbury said softly, a gentle smile on her face. "New schools can be very intimidating. Don't worry, though, we have a wonderful student aid who will help to show you around."

As if on cue, a blond boy walked in. Rachel stared at him, because he was so different from the AV kids that were usually instructed to show people around. He was tall, and blond, and good-looking. Perhaps most tellingly, he had a varsity jacket on. The only thing marring his perfection was the fact that his lips were frighteningly large. Rachel wondered idly what would happen if he tried to sing using a microphone. . .she thought he could probably swallow it whole.

"Hi," She said, a little breathlessly. Sam grinned at her.

"Hey," he says. "My name's Sam. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Rachel," she says, holding out a hand. "Future star of Broadway."

"Uh. . .that's cool," Says Sam. "Let me show you around. Can I see your schedule?"

When Rachel hands it to him, he nods happily. "Oh, you've got Mr. Schue for Spanish. He's pretty cool. He won't mind if you're a little late. Let me show you around."

So Sam begins giving her a whirlwind tour of McKinley. He walks her past the AV club, led by a rather terrifying brunette wearing too-large glasses. He introduces her to the cheerleaders, all of whom glare at her. One, a particularly pretty blonde, laughs and mutters something about a nose. Rachel's hand goes up to cover it.

Sam points to the band dorks, and then waves at someone over her head. Rachel turns around, and her breath catches. She is staring at the single most beautiful man ever. He's tall, and has a charming smile, and kind brown eyes, and. . .she knows that she's staring, but she can't help it. Sam waves at the boy, and says something to another guy standing there, a mohawked boy who just screams "bully." Rachel can't pay any attention, however, because the tall, _beautiful_ man waves at her before walking by.

"Oh my God," she whispers. "Who is that? I burn, I pine. . ."

"Finn Hudson," Sam says with a grin. "Don't bother crushing on him. Word on the street is that Quinn Fabray has his eye on him."

"Who's Quinn?" Rachel asks. Sam jerks a finger back toward the pretty blond. Rachel spares half a glance toward the girl, before returning to stare at Finn, as he walks straight into a locker.

"Is he always so. . .so. . ."

"Clumsy?" Sam asks. "Yeah."

"No. . .he's sweet, and kind, and clearly extremely talented, and he walks with a confidence worthy of my own abilities. . ." Rachel's words trail out, because she doesn't know what else to say about a guy that she doesn't really know at all. Sam just shrugs.

"Well, like I said, he's never going to go out with you. Besides Quinn, it's a widely known fact that the Hudmel brothers aren't allowed to date. But if you really want to get on his good side, I hear that he's looking for English tutor."

"Perfect!" Rachel says, clapping her hands together. She's not exactly a prodigy at English, but she is _very_ good at expressing herself, particularly via song. Really, English isn't much more emotional than pouring everything into a particularly moving ballad, and she has no doubt that she can educate Finn in the finer points of pathos and catharthis. She decides to run after Finn and offer her services.

He's still walking with the rather intimidating teen, who is currently speaking.

"So, I know that you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?"

Finn seems to consider this for a moment. "I think you can be in Paris?"

Rachel thinks that she may understand why he needs an English tutor.

But before she can volunteer, Quinn and two other cheerleaders walk by. Quinn smiles coyly, and flips her hair. "Hey, Finn," she practically purrs. "Santana and I are going to get a slushie from the cafeteria. Care you join us?"

"Yeah, Finn," a pretty Hispanic says. "It's just so . . . hot. You want to cool us down?"

"Man, I love slushies!" Finn says enthusiastically, looping his arms over two of the girls shoulders, before walking off with them. Rachel can actually feel her face fall as he wanders away. Sam comes up and places a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," he says. "Don't worry about it. Quinn's kind of a bitch. I dated her last year, and she totally blew me off because I wasn't popular enough."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Rachel sighs. Sam just shrugs.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you to Spanish class."

Xxx

Kurt is sitting at home, reading the latest issue of Vogue, when Carole walks in from the kitchen. The whole house smells delicious, freshly baked cookies and chocolate chip batter. Kurt smiles a little as he's reminded of how happy his new little family is. He's glad that his dad married Carole, he really is, even if it did cause some trouble initially.

"Hey, honey," she says, leaning over and ruffling his hair. Kurt frowns, because _nobody_ touches his hair, but he lets Carole get away with it, anyway. "How was school?"

"All right," he says. "Only got slushied once, today." Carole sighs, and shakes her head. Kurt knows how much she hates the bullying, and even more his blasé attitude toward it. But she doesn't understand it. . .neither does Finn for that matter, or even his dad.

"Well, maybe this will cheer you up," Carole says, pulling something out from behind her back. "This came in the mail, today."

Kurt stares at the thick, manila envelope. His heart jumps into his throat. It can't be. . .is it. . .what. . .he grabs it and rips open the top, completely the opposite of his usual meticulous work. "Oh my God. . .Oh my God. . ." he keeps saying, like a mantra. His ad chooses that moment to walk in, a small smile on his face. Kurt scans the first letter, his own face breaking into the biggest grin ever.

"I got in. . ." he whispers. "I got in! I got in!"

New York University has been Kurt's dream since, well, forever. He can't believe that he actually got accepted, just because things never go that well for him. As he glances up, he sees Carole and his dad exchange A Look, and his heart sinks.

"That's great, son," his dad says. "It's just. . .uh. . .isn't that all the way in New York?"

"Obviously, dad," Kurt says, and he still an't keep the grin off his face. "I mean, that's the main reason I want to go. . .and it's kind of in the name."

"Yeah, it's just. . ." Bur tsighs and shakes his head. "Money's kind of tight these days. It's going to be tough sending you and your brother to college, even if it is just a state school."

Kurt nods, and bites his lower lip. He knows how hard it will be for his dad and Carole to scrape together the money. He scans the letter again, hoping there's some mention of financial aid, or a scholarship, but there's nothing. His heart sinks, as he realizes that he's probably going to end up staying in Ohio, with all the idiot, conservative Neanderthals who have made his life hell for as long as he can remember.

The door opens, and Finn walks in. Carole glances up at him in surprise. "Where were you, so late?" she asks. Finn just grins, wide and oblivious.

"I went to grab some food with Quinn and the girls," he says. Carole frowns.

"Quinn? And the girls? Finn, we've talked about this. . .I'm just not comfortable with you hanging out with those cheerleaders. Two of them have already gotten pregnant, and. . ."

"I _know_, Mom," Finn says. "But everybody dates at school. I don't see why I can't date whoever I want."

"Not everybody dates," Kurt's dad points, out, gesturing toward his son. "He doesn't."

"Dad, that's because I'm gay," Kurt says wryly. "In Ohio. I'm the only out guy at school."

"Moooommm," Finn starts to whine, and Kurt can tell that his stepmom is going to cave. His dad, apparently, notices as well, however, putting a hand on Carole's arm.

"I have an idea," he says, and Kurt recognizes the sparkle in his eye. "Finn can date whoever he wants. . .as soon as Kurt can."

"What?" Finn splutters. "But. . .he's gay! What if he never dates anyone?"

"Then you never date anyone," Burt says.

"Ooh, I like the sound of that!" Carole exclaims. Finn just pouts.

"That's so unfair!" he whines.

"Life's unfair," Kurt says offhandedly. "It's unfair that I can't walk down the halls with a boy that I like, or slow dance with someone at prom."

"Yeah. . .but. . .if you were _normal_ you could," Finn whines. Burt's face closes in at that, and soon both of them are sent to their rooms. Kurt trudges down to the basement, still clutching his NYU acceptance packet to his chest in desperation. He drops off his stained clothes in the laundry room on his way to his own room, where he flops on the bed and scans through photos of smiling, beautiful people and skyscrapers.

All that he wants is to get out of Ohio, but apparently _that's_ not going to happen.

Xxx

Rachel is incredibly excited for her first tutoring session with Finn. She arrives ten minutes early at the library, and sets out a tablecloth, some studying libations, and a series of books. She'd looked at Finn's curriculum, and pulled down a number of study aids from the internet. By the time she's finished setting everything up, it's six o'clock, and time for their session.

Finn arrives five minutes later, breathless and hair still wet from the shower. Rachel smiles thinly as her heart does an uncomfortable flip-flop. He sits down heavily across from her, a broad, crooked smile on his face.

"Sorry," he says. "Puck and Sam got into it in the locker room, and then Coach Beiste made the team eat twenty peaches. Wait. . .is that food for me?"

"Of course," Rachel says. "I thought that, since our studying session is so late, we might be able to . . . oh." Finn has already stuffed one of the sandwiches in his mouth, and is chewing happily. Rachel grins.

"So I was thinking that we could begin with dramatic irony," she says. Finn just groans and rolls his eyes, so Rachel screws up all her courage. "Well. . ." she says slowly. "There is another way. . ."

Finn looks at her expectantly. "We could. . .uh. . .go see a play together. . .or a movie. . .that has dramatic irony in it. . ."  
>"That would be awesome!" Finn exclaims. "Except. . .bummer. . .it kind of sounds like a date, and . . ."<p>

"Right," Rachel says. "Understandable. But really, it's a work date. I mean, a work session. Not a date at all, so I thought your dad might let you."

"Nah," Finn sighs. "My mom's pretty cool, but she's pretty smart, too. Anyway, that's not the rule anymore. Now I'm allowed to date whenever my brother does."

"Fantastic!" Rachel exclaims, her brain already going a mile a minute. "Then you can pick me up at six o'clock prompt. I think we should probably do something more low-key for a first date, perhaps dinner and a movie, though I personally believe that the movie should come first, since it provides for more avenues of discussion during dinner. French food is extremely romantic, so perhaps. . ."

"Whoa," Finn says, holding up a hand. "My brother's gay."

Rachel cocks her head and frowns. "You say that likes it's a problem. Both of my dads are gay and"

"It is a problem," Finn says. "Nobody else is out at the school. He can't date anyone if he can't find anyone else of his same sexuality."

"Oh. . ." Rachel considers that for a moment. "Well. . .my dads met in Indiana, and I'm sure that's not so different from Ohio. I could ask them about how to meet other gay men, particularly in a high school setting."

"Really?" Finn asks. "Dude, Rachel, that would be awesome!" He lifts his hand for a high five, and she hesitantly taps it with her own. Then, amazingly, Finn leans over and hugs her. She closes her eyes for a moment, because he smells _incredible_. Well, really he just smells like Ivory bar soap, and a little like grass, but he's holding her and she can smell him, and that's amazing enough.

Xxx

Finn is walking down the hallway when Quinn calls him over. She hands him two different pictures of herself, one with a white background, the other with a white one.

"So I'm considering which picture to use for my Prom Queen campaign," she says. "What do you think of these?"

"They. . .uh. . .they look the same," Finn says, because really they do. Quinn, however, frowns at him, delicate brows drawing together over her green eyes.

"This is serious, Finn," she hisses. "Popularity isn't enough to win. You need to have a strong grassroots movement, and great publicity."

Finn Doesn't really know what she's talking about, but he can tell that this thing means a lot to her, so he just goes eenie-meenie in his brain and finally picks the left one. "I guess I like that one," he says. "It's more. . .um. . ."

"Angelic?" Quinn asks. "Yes, that's what I was thinking, too. You see, Finn, this is why we're so perfect for each other!"

She leans forward and hugs him, and Finn grins. Maybe this whole dating thing isn't so hard, after all. . .he'll just have to somehow find Kurt a boyfriend. . .

Xxx

"Yeah, there's only one problem," Sam says. "There isn't anyone here who's gay."

"Well, they don't actually _have_ to be gay," Rachel points out. "They just have to be willing to date a gay guy. There must be someone here who's bisexual. Or incredibly broke and would be willing to face the humiliation of dating Kurt Hudmel for a significant advance of his college fund."

"Well," Sam muses, "there is this recent transfer student. I mean, he came from an all boys school, which means he's probably at least made out with a guy before, even if he isn't gay."

"Really?" Rachel asks, interested. "How do you know that guys at all boys schools are experimental?"

"Ah. . .no reason," Sam says, glancing way. "But it probably wouldn't work anyway. He's pretty popular. . .he sings for the Warblers, the school a cappella group. They're, like. . .rock stars. He'll never go for it."

"Never, hmm?" Rachel mused. She completely missed the worried look on Sam's face. She was busy plotting how to hook up this mysterious Warbler and Finn's brother. She was pretty sure that if she could just get a hold of a microphone, some duct tape, and a jump rope. . .

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Sam mutters, interrupting her (brilliant) train of thought. He grabs her hand, and begins towing her between tables in the lunchroom, finally ending at the cheerleaders table. Rachel backs up behind him, a little intimidated by all the pretty girls in their short skirts.

"Hey, Trouty Mouth," Santana smirks. "Finally got the balls to use those luscious lips for a little sumthin-sumthin?"

"Uh, no," Sam says. "I actually just wanted to talk to Quinn. You know Blaine, right?"

"Of course," Quinn says. "He dated Brittany for a while."

"He smells good," Brittany says. "But his hair is kind of sticky."

"Right," Sam says. "Anyway. . .I know that Finn's got the hots for you, and I think you might like him, too. And he can only date if Kurt dates. So, I had an idea. . ."

"Hold up, guppyface," Santana interrupts. "What's your angle?"

"That," Sam says desperately. "I help Quinn get Finn, and you stop obsessing over my lips.

"No deal," Santana says.

"Sounds good," Quinn says, shooting a glare at her friend. "What's your idea?"

"I thought maybe you could talk to Blaine, and see if you could talk him in to dating Kurt. Like, a bribe, or a dare, or something?"

"I dared Blaine to lick my armpits," Brittany says. "He totally did it."

"Anderson will do anything if he's dared," Santana says. "I dared him to flirt with Schuester once, and he practically pulled the teach's pants off."

"All right," Quinn says. "Thanks, Sam."

Rachel grabs Sam's arm and pulls him away. "What did you do that for?" she hisses. "The point wasn't to get him to go out with _her_, it's to get him to go out with _me_."

"I know," Sam says, shrugging. "But Quinn's my friend, too. And Finn. So it's pretty win win, as long as he gets to bang someone. No offense."

"None taken," she says, glaring at Quinn. The other girl might be beautiful and blonde and perfect, but Rachel is a scrappy fighter, and she's pretty sure that once they get Kurt set up with someone, she'll be able to win Finn's heart. After all, that's how it always works in the movies!

Xxx

When Quinn had first approached him about dating Kurt Hummel, Blaine had thought she was a little nuts. They're in high school, after all, and there she was acting like some kind of cheerleading Yentl. Except that then she had said those magical words.

"I dare you. . ."

Blaine is kind of a sucker for dares.

As he's sitting at the edge of gym class, however, watching as Kurt stretches and warms up, and completely ignores the soccer game that the rest of the guys are playing, he reconsiders. Because Kurt is kind of. . .cute. He's a few inches taller than Blaine, and he has killer fashion sense. Pretty eyes, too. . .Blaine's always been a sucker for eyes. So maybe this won't be so bad, after all.

He waits for his moment, and seizes it when Kurt ambles over to get a sip of water. Blaine sticks his hand out and smiles, as charming as he can. It's the smile that makes pre-teen girls weak at the knees, and gets all the grandmother's at Cedar Point to watch both shows.

"I'm Blaine," he says. Kurt stares at his hand distrustfully. He glances behind Blaine, as though looking for someone else, and then lifts one eyebrow. His hands are folded behind his back.

"Kurt," he says briskly. Blaine just keeps smiling at him. Kurt shifts a little, and lifts a hand to touch his chin, and then his nose.

"What?" he asks. "Do I have something on my face?"

"You're cute," Blaine says, and blushes a little when the words come out. He doesn't mean to be so forward. . .it's not dapper or charming at all. Kurt just blinks at him, twice, his lips tightly pressed together.

"Funny," he hisses. "Did somebody put you up to this? Karofsky? What?"

"Karofsky. . .what? No. I just saw you, and thought. . .never mind. Do you want to get coffee?"

"No thanks," Kurt says. "One slushie a day is enough for me. I certainly don't need any more humiliation."

With that he turns and stalks away. Blaine frowns, and presses his hands down into his pockets.

Xxx

Blaine watches Kurt for the next week, trying to find out what they have in common, what topics of conversation can be used to get closer to the other boy. He compliments Kurt on his car, but is shot down. He talks about music and singing, but Kurt just sticks his nose in the air and walks away. Blaine's at his wits ends, and decides to do something really desperate.

He decides to talk to Finn.

Having a conversation with Finn Hudson is trying in the best of situations. Every now and again Finn is a kind of emotional savant, and just _gets_ people, but most of the time he's too busy trying to figure out how peanuts, which aren't sticky, can become peanut butter, which totally is. But Blaine can't take walking down the hallways and seeing Quinn raise an eyebrow at him. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that.

"What does Kurt like?" Finn asks, with a frown. "I don't know. . .girly stuff. Like, musicals and shiny things, I guess."

"Does he like RENT?" Blaine asks. There's a community theater production of it, and he wonders if maybe he could talk Kurt into seeing that. Finn's frown deepens.

"I don't think so," Finn says. "But his dad doesn't make us pay rent, so I don't really think. . ."

The next day Blaine comes to school with two tickets to RENT. He leans against Kurt's locker, waiting for the other boy to show up. He spots Kurt just before first period, looking as wary as a deer. He won't open his locker, just walks past Blaine. Second period he stops.

"Have you just been standing here all day?" he asks. Blaine grins, and waves the tickets.

"It just so happens," he drawls, "that I have two tickets to RENT, and no date. I'd hate for the ticket to go to waste. Tell me you'll go with me."

Kurt still doesn't look sure, so Blaine employs the Puppy Dog Eyes. . .the ones that get him extensions on term papers, and interviews with colleges that are way too prestigious for him to get into, and keeps his dad off his back most of the time. Kurt sighs, and takes one ticket.

"I'm doing this for Angel and Collins," he says. "Not for you. And I'm not going _with_ you. I'm just taking your ticket. To make sure it's used for a good cause."

As Kurt is walking away, a crazy, short Jewish girl runs up to him, nearly breathless.

"Is he going?" she asks. "You're taking him on a real date?"

"Getting there," Blaine says. "Why?"

And then the girl goes off on a crazy tirade about Finn Hudson and dating and Mercedes' Train Wreck Party Extravaganza, and Blaine kind of loses touch. He wonders what he's going to wear to RENT.

"Oh, and Blaine," Rachel says hurriedly, grabbing his arm before he walks away. "I forgot to tell you. . .he has _silk boxers_."

Blaine isn't sure that he knows what that's supposed to mean, but he kind of can't get the image of Kurt, mostly naked, out of his head.

Xxx

Kurt is terrified when he walks into Lima's Civic Community Theater. This could go so, so wrong. . .there's probably a slushie waiting for him, or a huge sign with derogatory language. Blaine's probably got a camera, or there will be pig's blood, or something. But Kurt refuses to let all of that keep him from doing something he wants to do. RENT is one of his favorite production, and it's been sold out for weeks. Besides, what's a little humiliation measured against his chance to see one of his favorite shows?

When he walks down the aisle, however, and is guided to his seat, he's pleasantly surprised to see that Blaine is already seated, hands clasped politely in his lap. And Blaine's wearing a sports jacket. He's actually _dressed appropriately_, which Kurt can't quite get over, because most of the guys he knows would show up in sweats or something. But Blaine has on a shirt and tie, and is wearing dress shoes. And when he looks up, his hazel eyes glow beneath long, dark lashes, and. . .

Oh, no. Kurt shakes his head. Absolutely not. He is absolutely not getting a crush on another straight guy. So he just mutters hello, and sits down, and tries not to notice how close Blaine's hand is to his, or how their thighs brush together when one of them tries to move.

"You know," Blaine says absently during intermission. "Their lead isn't bad. I mean, he's no Adam Pascal, but he's not half bad."

Kurt stares at him, open-mouthed.

"You know Broadway?" he asks incredulously. Blaine just winks, and turns his attention back to the screen.

Xxx

Kurt spends the following Friday in a bizarre daze. He keeps seeing Blaine pass by in the hallways, where before he isn't sure that he'd ever seen him at all. He hears the rumors the other students are saying, and realizes that he doesn't remember hearing any of them.

Blaine is a secret rock star, pulling a Hannah Montana.

Blaine got kicked out of private school for having an affair with a teacher.

Blaine's dad is the king of a small, independent country.

Blaine has sung for the Queen of England.

Blaine is gay. Blaine is straight. Blaine is into bestiality and S&M.

Kurt doesn't know what to believe, and he kind of wants to talk to Blaine about it, but he just doesn't have the balls. Because RENT was definitely not a date, it was just two guys seeing a play together. Right? So Friday night he isn't really expecting anything. So he's a little surprised when he walks downstairs to see Finn and Puck standing their own against Burt and Carole.

"It's a studying party," Finn protests.

"Studyng what?" Burt asks. "Anatomy?"

"Dude, it's just a party," Puck says. "And Finn's gonna DD, so it's not like he'll even get wasted or anything."

"Hmm. . ." Burt thinks. "Kurt, you know anything about this party?"

"No," Kurt says honestly, because he doesn't. Not that that's saying anything. He's not exactly popular – in fact, he's the exact opposite, and Finn always knows about parties that he doesn't. Finn turns to look at him imploringly, and Kurt sighs. "I mean. . .yeah, I was planning on going a little later."

"Dude," Puck sighs. Kurt bites the inside of his lip. He really doesn't want to go to a party, because he knows he's just going to be either insulted or ignored the entire night. But Finn just looks so pathetic, and he really is a pretty good brother, all things considered. . .

Just then the doorbell rings. Carole turns and opens it, and Kurt's breath catches a little when he sees Blaine standing in the doorway, this time with a deep maroon cardigan over a shirt and tie.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudmel," he says politely, extending a hand. "I'm Blaine Anderson. I'm here to pick up Kurt for the party."

"Blaine?" Kurt asks disbelievingly. Blaine just smiles, flashing his trademark grin.

"8:30, right? I'm early, aren't I? Sorry."

"No, it's. . .it's fine," Kurt says faintly. "Um. . .Puck, Finn, you ready to go?"

The party ends up being a shit show. At some point two of Blaine's friends from the Warbler come up and drag Blaine away to discuss setlists or something. Finn is off macking on Quinn, and Kurt finds himself alone. A couple kids snicker as they walk by, and he gets a number of obscene gestures. Kurt just crosses his arm across his chest, trying to shrink into himself. Santana walks by and hands him a shot of tequila, which he quickly downs.

It tastes _disgusting_, and kind of burns his throats, but that's what you're supposed to do at a party, right? Drink and get drunk? He grabs a bottle out of Brittany's hand – some kind of clear liquid, and throws it back. He winces and sputters a little, and shakes his head.

And then, out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Finn, standing between the new girl, Rachel, and Quinn. He wanders over.

"Hey," he says.

"Oh, hello, Kurt," Rachel says. "How are you today? Isn't this a fantastic party? I was just talking to Finn and"

"You mean that you were just boring Finn," Quinn says. "I mean, really. Who cares about your wishes and dreams? You're just an unattractive hobbit."

Kurt winces, and takes another drink of the vodka. He's feeling a bit happier, now and Quinn's sounding kind of funny. He grins a little, before he remembers what a bitch the cheerleader is. He reaches out a hand to grab Finn's arm and. . .huh. . .that's kind of funny, because Finn's face is swimming a little. . .he shakes his head.

"Finn, I has to, I mean, I have to tell you something. About Quinn"

"Come on," the cheerleader says, shoving Blaine aside with one shoulder. "Let me tell you some of my ideas for Prom Queen."

She grabs Finn's hand, interlocking their fingers, and drags Finn away. He turns for a second, and wiggles his hand at Rachel before disappearing into another room. Kurt sneaks a glance at the other girls hand. She looks absolutely devastated.

"Love sucks," Kurt tells her. "Break your heart."

"Yeah," Rachel says softly. I guess so."  
>All of a sudden Blaine is there. Oh, Kurt thinks, he's really pretty. Like, really, really pretty. Except then Blaine is tugging at the bottle of vodka.<p>

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"You don't need to drink all that," Blaine says. Kurt frowns. Because it's _his_ vodka and it makes him feel good. He jerks it back.

"That's what you _do_ at a party," he says "You get trashed."

And then he kind of shimmies around Blaine, because even if Blaine is pretty, he's kind of boring. And Kurt hears music. And he wants to daaaance. After he takes another sip of the vodka. Maybe two.

Somehow he finds himself up on top of the table. They're playing Lady Gaga, which is awesome, because Lady Gaga is _awesome_. She's like, the best thing to happen to gays ever. Even if she isn't gay. Which she isn't.

The world is kind of spinning, which is awesome. Everybody's face is blurring together, though, which isn't so awesome, because he has to find Finn and Blaine and make sure they all get home.

When he's done dancing, though. Because Lady Gaga is AWESOME!

He drops to the ground in a quick shimmy, and slowly rises. Does it again, and this time shoots up and

Ow.

Ow.

His head hurts. What did he hit his head on?

Why are his eyes closed?

He opens his eyes, and finds that he's staring into the prettiest hazel eyes ever. Seriously, they're so pretty. He wonders whose they are. Maybe a movie star. Movie stars live in L.A., and they're not homophobic like all the losers in Lima. Kurt would totally move to Hollywood.

The movie star helps him outside, and sits him down on a bench. Patting his shoulder.

"Just. . .stay here, okay," the movie star says, peering anxiously into Kurt's eyes. "I think you might have a concussion. You hit your head pretty hard."

Kurt frowns, because the movie star looks so familiar. He must be in a lot of movies.

And then, over the movie star's shoulders, he sees Rachel. Kurt waves his hand enthusiastically.

"Rachel! Hi, Rachel!" he says. "Hi, Rachel! Hi, hi!"

But Rachel doesn't want to talk to him, she just wants to talk to the movie star. Kurt pouts, but he doesn't blame her. He'd rather talk to the movie star, too.

"The dare is off."

"What? Why?"

"Because he wants Quinn," Rachel says. "That's all he wants."

The movie star – Blaine, Blaine is the movie stars name – runs a hand through his curly hair, and growls a little. Kurt's stomach flipflops at the sound. He needs to see more of these movies, because Blaine is capable S E X Y.

"Look, Rachel, do you like this guy?"

"He is the sun in my life, the reason I wake up in the morning, the Romeo to my Juliet, the Peron to my Eva, the"

"Then go for him," Blaine says. Kurt blinks. Wow. . .the world is coming up to visit him. That's nice. Suddenly Blaine is sitting beside him, supporting his head. Kurt frowns a little. The earth doesn't want to visit any more, but he thinks it's nicer lying his head on Blaine's shoulder.

"Look," Blaine says. "I'm not very good at romance, as you can see. Just. . .decide. And nothin'gs over, because Quinn dared me, not you."

"Bye, Rachel!" Kurt says, waving a little. Rachel is walking away, but so is he, because Blaine has looped an arm around his waist and is helping him sit on the swings.

"Don't be patronizing," Kurt says. "I don't like being patronized."

"Of course you don't," Blaine says.

"I'm not a box!" Kurt insists. "There are more than four sides to me!"

"Okay," Blaine says. Kurt frowns, and tries to concentrate on swinging without falling off.

"Oh, Bambi," he mutters. "Why'd they have to kill your mother?" Whoops. He's falling again, until Blaine has him by the shoulders, and is peering into his eyes. Kurt's mouth falls open.

"There are flecks of gold in your eyes," he says, and Blaine's smile is the most beautiful thing ever.

Then he pukes on Blaine's shoes. Which is a shame, because Kurt thinks they might be Prada.

The next thing he knows, they're in Blaine's car, presumably driving home. Kurt doesn't _think_ the other boy would kidnap him, but he supposes that anything is possible. Meanwhile, Blaine is singing along to Katy Perry.

"I should do this," Kurt mutters. Blaine glances at him, a small smile around his lips.

"Do what?"

"Sing," Kurt says. "My mom used to sing. I used to sing."

"Why don't you do it anymore?" Blaine asks. Kurt frowns. He can't quite remember why he doesn't sing anymore. Glee Club had been super lame in middle school, but the Warblers are pretty much the most amazing thing ever and. . .

Oh. They aren't moving any more.

"If you like singing, you should go for it."

Kurt frowns. "you don't know me. The only thing people know about is I'm gay."

Blaine looks down at that, and Kurt frowns.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay," Blaine says.

"Try telling that to the Neanderthals at school," Kurt says, and Blaine chuckles a little. Kurt stares at him and wonders if maybe. . .just maybe. . .

He leans forward a little, and watches as Blaine's eyes flicker to his lips. He sighs. It's going to happen. It's finally going to happen, and he's finally going to have his first kiss. His heart is practically beating out of his chest. . .

But then Blaine turns away, and stares at his steering wheel.

"Maybe we should do this another time," he says.

Kurt doesn't know what to say. The world is still spinning a little, but he forces himself out of the car, and up the stairs. Of course. Blaine is straight. It's all a game, probably a bet or something. Get the gay kid to fall in love and –

Not that he's in love, or anything. Just. . .for one moment he'd thought he'd found someone who would understand, someone who. . .

He's still sitting on the porch when another car pulls up. He sees two figures in it, one huge and one tiny. Finn and Rachel, he realizes. As he watches, Finn abruptly leans over and kisses the girl, before walking out of the car. Rachel sits there for a minute, before driving up.

"Oh, hey," Finn says when he reaches the porch. "You're home early."

"You picked Rachel over Quinn?" Kurt asks dully. Not that he cares, but seriously, how does Finn, big, hulking, stupid Finn, have a dozen girls falling all over him, when Kurt can't even kiss the one guy who might possibly be gay?

"No. Yes," Finn sighs. "I don't know. Quinn just cares about popularity and Rachel is. . .Kurt, do you feel okay?"

Answer: yeah, he feels a lot better after he vomits into Carole's hydrangeas.

Xxx

Finn is doing windsprints when Quinn wanders over to him. She looks beautiful, her skin clear and not a hair out of place in her ponytail. Finn glances around to see if he's insane – sure enough, everyone else in his class is sweaty and red-faced. Only Quinn still looks like an angel.

"Hey," she says. "I wanted to talk to you about Prom. Why haven't you asked me?"

"Um. . .you know," Finn mutters. "I can't go if Kurt doesn't go."

"Oh, is that all?" Quinn asks, sauntering up to him and looking up beneath fluttering lashes.

Blaine doesn't understand. He'd spent the whole weekend thinking about Kurt. . .thinking about his glasz eyes, and his pink lips, and how hot his ass looked in those painted on jeans he insists on wearing. He thinks Kurt might be worth coming out for. . .not that he's in the closet, exactly, but people just assume things. And, since he doesn't wear feathers or boas as Kurt is known to do, everyone's just assumed that he's straight.

And now he's popular, and he's not being bullied, and it's kind of nice. But he thinks that it might be possible to have both, so he's looking forward to seeing Kurt on Monday.

Except that Kurt avoids him all day, and when they fainlly have lunch together, Kurt "accidently" spills coffee all over him. He catches a glance at Kurt's French essay, which he knows is supposed to be about villains, and is pretty sure that he sees his name written there. And, when he walks past Kurt's locker fifth period, he sees a picture of himself with a giant red X drawn across it, and devil horns. That both excites and disappoints Blaine. On the one hand, it's thrilling to see his face peering at him from Kurt's locker.

On the other hand, it's been defaced.

"You know," he says to him during English, the one class they have together. "You don't have to be such a bitch to me."

"Takes one to know one," Kurt whispers back. Blaine sighs, because Kurt has his mask on again, that ice bitch façade that screams that he doesn't need anyone. But Blaine can see the vulnerability beneath it. He knows what Kurt's going through. . .the horrible feeling of being entirely alone.

"You're not as strong as you think you are," he says to the other boy.

"You're not as charming and dapper as you think you are," Kurt replies, and then resolutely buries his nose back into Shakespeare.

Rachel comes up to Blaine at lunch. "Look," she says, "I really need you to get back in Kurt's good graces, because you're the only guy who might _possibly_ ask him to Prom. Finn absolutely can't ask _me_ to go to prom unless Kurt has a date. And, as prom is a seminal coming of age experience, I feel that it is vital to my training to experience it, both the romanticism and the heartbreak. What I need is"

"Hold on," Blaine says. "I've been _trying_ to talk to Kurt. He won't listen to me. He doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Of course not," Rachel huffs. "He must have been horribly embarrassed after that party. I mean, he did ralph on you, and then Finn says that he vomited later, as well. You must sacrifice yourself upon the alter of dignity. . .prove to him that _he_ is more important than you popularity. Prove that. . ."

Blaine kind of tunes her out after that, because he's getting a bit of an idea. It's probably a horrible idea, and it will be the biggest coming out of any gay kid anywhere. It's entirely possible that he'll be doused in blue slushie and thrown in dumpsters for the rest of his life.

But then he remembers the way Kurt blushed when they were at RENT, and the way he'd grinned at being picked up on Friday. He hinks about how cute Kurt is, and how there's just something about him. . .and, in the back of his mind, there's still Quinn's dare.

He has an idea.

Xxx

Kurt is yawning in the library. He has a study hall sixth period, because McKinley doesn't offer enough advanced classes for him. Usually he enjoys the time, and uses it to finish all of his homework – more time to read Vogue and watch Bravo after school – but today he's just bored. HE's seriously considering suicide by pencil when he hears the loudspeaker crackle.

"_Before you met me, I was all right_

_ But things were kind of heavy, you brought me to light_

_ Now every February, you'll be my Valentine_

_ Valentine_"

Kurt's head jerks up. He _knows_ that voice. His heart flutters a little, but he fights it down. Surely it's just a stunt for the Warblers, an announcement of an upcoming concert. But it's the middle of class, and Principal Figgins never allows students to make announcements during classes.

He glances around, and sees Blaine standing in the doorway. And his heart stops. Utterly stops, because Blaine is just standing there, his eyes completely focused on Kurt, and he looks beyond dreamy.

He starts walking toward Kurt, never losing that eye contact. Kurt can feel the blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, and curses his fair complexion.

"_Let's go all the way tonight_

_No regrets, just love_

_We can dance until we die_

_You and I, we'll be young forever!"_

The librarian looks up, frowning, and presses a button. Kurt starts grinning.

"_You make me feel like I'm living a _

_Teenage dream_

_The way you turn me on_

_I can't sleep_

_Let's run away and don't ever look back_

_Don't ever look back_

Just then, two of the security guards walk in. Kurt gasps, and raises his hands to cover his mouth. Blaine spots them, though, and promptly begins jumping on tables and chairs, darting around the room and avoiding them. All the while he keeps singing, occasionally pointing or winking at Kurt, as though to make sure that everyone in the library knows who the song is for.

_My heart stops when you look at me_

_Just one touch, now baby I believe_

_This is real_

_So take a chance and don't ever look back,_

_Don't ever look back_

One of the security guards finally catches up to Blaine, grabbing at his leg and pulling him off a bookcase. The other quickly grabs his hand, and yanks the microphone out of his hand. They begin dragging him to the door, but Blaine continues singing, a huge smile on his lips.

_I'mma get your heart racing in my skintight jeans_

_Be your teenage dream tonight_

Kurt gasps, because that is so inappropriate, and so. . .so. . .everyone in the library is staring at him, now, but he still can't get the smile off his face. He's being serenaded, by the cutest guy that he's ever met, and he is now one hundred percent, absolutely certain that Blaine is gay, and that Blaine is interested.

_ Let you put your hands on me in my skintight jeans_

_ Be your teenage dream tonight"_

Yeah, Kurt's going to have a hard time getting the image of Blaine, shirtless and wearing tight jeans, out of his mind.

Xxx

Blaine has never been in detention before, and it kind of stinks. Coach Sylvester is stealing people's pot and Doritos, and kind of chewing on them at the front of class. He's completely bored, and he's missing the Warblers meeting, and Wes is probably going to kill him, and is evern possibly going to take away his solos. Which is unfair, and stupid, because he's the best singer they have.

He's trying to keep from going insane when Kurt walks in. Well. . .this is interesting. Kurt winks at him, before promptly walking up to Coach Sylvester.

"Coach," he says. "There's a 10-4 down at the field. Two of your Cheerios are scratching each other's faces."

"What?" Sue roars. "We have Nationals in two weeks! I can't afford my plastic mannequins to be anything less than manufactured perfection! Out of my way Porcelein!"

And then she's gone. Nobody moves at first, too shocked by their sudden freedom.

"Come on," Kurt winks. "We have to get out of here before she catches us."

So they go out for coffee, which Blaine pays for (of course). He realizes that this officially counts as a date, so the dare is over. He can go back to Quinn, and gloat, and point out that he's won, and then he can go back to being popular and awesome. Because getting put in detention had earned him badass credit, and everyone seemed to focus on the fact that he'd stolen control of the loudspeakers and broken rules, and had failed to notice that he'd been serenaded the infamous gay kid at school.

Blaine has an out. It's a complete win.

But as he's sitting there, staring at Kurt and sipping his medium drip, he realizes that he kind of doesn't want this bet to be over. Becausee Kurt is snarky, and funny, and more than a little attractive. So he reaches over, and covers Kurt's hand in his own.

"Go to the football game with me Friday," he says.

"I. . .I don't like football," Kurt says breathlessly. Blaine doesn't say anything to that, he just keeps staring at the other boy. So Kurt flushes and glances down. "I do. . .um, I do like scarves."

Blaine laughs at that a little, and takes another sip.

"Are any of the rumors true?" Kurt asks. "I mean. . .everyone says that you're a rock star."

"False," Blaine says with a laugh. "People say that you sucked off Mr. Schuester."

"Definitely false," Kurt says, turning tomato red. "Ew, that's disgusting. People really say that?" Blaine just shrugs. "What about. . .the rumor that you're gay?"

"True," Blaine says. "And I'm not. . .I'm not hiding it. I'm out, and I'm proud, I just don't need to make a big deal about it. I'm more than my sexuality, but when people know that you're gay, it's like. . .it's like that's all they see you for."

"Yeah," Kurt breathes softly. "Yeah, I understand that, trust me."

"Tell me something true," Blaine says, impulsively. "Something that nobody else knows. Something that's not a rumor."

"Um. . ." Kurt considers for a moment. "I hate the color fuschia?"

Blaine laughs again, and he realizes abruptly that he does that a lot around Kurt. It feels good. "No, I mean. . .something that matters. Something that's real."

Kurt smiles a little. "My biggest dream is to move to New York and sing on Broadway," he admits. "Glee Club was so lame in my middle school, though. . .I was too nervous to try out this year."

Blaine reaches across and grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Next year," He says. "Try out. We'll love to have you." Kurt just keeps looking at him, and Blaine understands exactly what the other boy is saying, using nothing more than his eyes. "My turn? Um. . .I got. . .I got beat up in middle school. For being gay. That's why I went to an all-boys school. Not because my parents were rich, but because they had a no-bullying policy. But then my parents couldn't afford it, so that's when I came to McKinely."

Kurt's lips quirk a little. "No affairs with headmasters?" he asks. Blaine shakes his head.

"No," he says. "Just. . .a need to face my demons, I guess."

Kurt squeezes his hand. "I guess we can do that together, now."

Xxx

Rachel feels a little uncomfortable, because Finn is just sitting there, staring at her. She had thought they were okay. . .after the kiss, she'd thought that maybe he liked her. And they'd eaten lunch ever day together, and Finn held her hand and. . .but now he's staring at her with an almost-angry look on her face.

"So. . .let's open up Henry V," she suggests. But Finn just knocks the book off the table.

"Do you like me or not?" he asks. Rachel gapes at him.

"Of course I like you!"

"Oh," Finn says, nodding his head. "I wasn't sure. Because you were all over me, before, and then after we kissed you were just kind of. . .whatever."

"I didn't want to suffocate you," Rachel says. "I mean. . .sometimes I get a little intense."

"Oh," Finn grins stupidly. "Well then. . .will you go to Prom with me?"

xxx

Kurt is wearing a kilt to prom, and he doesn't care what anyone says to him, because he's going to prom with Blaine. Charming, handsome, dapper Blaine who is popular and talented and amazing, and a little too good to be true. When Blaine had first asked him to prom he'd been a little nervous in accepting – the bullies at McKinley were bad enough to begin with, and he wasn't sure that prom was the best way to come out. But Blaine insisted, and now here they are.

"What do you think?" he asks, twirling around to show off. Burt sighs, and Kurt knows that it's just because he's nervous about the two boys going out.

"Dude," Finn says with a massive grin. "That's so cool. It's like. . .gay Braveheart!"

Blaine doesn't say anything, just leans over and gently presses his lips to Kurts own. It's not their first kiss, but it still feels like it. Every kiss feels like a first to Kurt, all butterflies and fireworks. He really, _really_ hopes that Blaine feels the same way.

When they walk into Prom, it's everything that Kurt had ever expected. It's tacky decorations, and bad DJ music, and a bunch of sweaty teenagers stuffed into ill-fitting tuxedos and too tight, too-shiny dresses. But his hand is held by Blaine, and that makes it absolutely _awesome_.

But while Blaine and Kurt are happily dancing in the gym, Finn is facing off with Kurt.

"Seriously, dude, you're with Quinn? I didn't even think she _liked _you," Finn says.

"Yeah, well, you're not God's gift to women," Puck shoots back. "Besides, the only reason Quinn wanted to be with you was because she thought you were popular. Now that you're making out with that Jewish midget, you've lost all street cred."

"Dude, _you're_ Jewish," Finn points out. That seems to stump Puck for a minute, and Finn stomps back into the gym, where Quinn angrily brushes by him.

"Wrong decision," she snots at him, before heading over to where Kurt and Blaine are dancing. She shoves herself between them and glares at Blaine.

"Seriously?" she asks. "Aren't you taking this dare a little far? I mean, one date, yeah, but taking the fag to prom? Really?"

Kurt pushes his way back, as Finn tries desperately to shove his way in, but there are students on every side, and he can't get to his brother. Because this is seriously messed up, what Quinn's doing, and based on the way Kurt's eyes have widened and look watery, and the way Blaine looks like somebody just kicked him in the nads, he thinks that this might be a very big deal.

Kurt is looking at Blaine expectantly, but the other kid doesn't say anything. And then Kurt sticks his chin higher up in the air. He opens his mouth to say something, but then Figgins is at the microphone, awkwardly stating that he's going to be announcing the Prom court.

"This year's prom queen is. . .Kurt Hummel," he announces.

The audience is silent. And then some of the jocks are snickering, and a couple cheerleaders are grinning and clapping, and some douche bag wolf whistles. Quinn just looks incredibly happy.

Kurt looks terrified. Finn shoulders past Santana and Brittany, and he's almost there, even if he doesn't' know what to do. . .except that Kurt gasps in a stifled sob, and is suddenly running out of the auditorium. Blaine stops a moment to glare at Quinn.

"You _bitch_," he hisses, before running out of the gym after Kurt.

"Why did you do that?" Finn asks, when he finally, _finally_ reaches the other girl.

"Oh, please," Quinn says. "I mean, he might be your brother, Finn, but he's still a homo. And everybody knows what the Bible says about that."

Finn doesn't even know how to respond. He'd known that Ohio was unaccepting. . .he lived with Kurt after all, and contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a complete moron. But he'd never expected that Quinn, Christian Quinn, could be so hateful.

All of a sudden Rachel is at his side, and she suddenly strides forward and slaps Quinn. Hard.

"That's for my gay dads," she says. "Who definitely aren't damned." She slaps Quinn again, leaving a matching red mark on the girls left cheek. "That's for Kurt. Who's a better person then you'll ever be." Then she rears back and punches Quinn in the nose. "And that's for ruining Finn and my prom."

"What the hell?" Quinn screams. "I think you broke my nose!"

"Dude," Finn breathes, grabbing Rachel in a tight hug. "That was totally bad ass.  
>"Yes, well. I appreciate the drama of a slap, but sometimes a left hook is just more satisfying.<p>

Xxx

Blaine catches up with Kurt just outside. His heart breaks at the expression on the other boys face, at the tears rolling down his face. Oh, he thinks. There you are. I've been looking for you forever.

"What was that, Blaine?" Kurt asks. "You didn't say a word. You didn't even stick up for me."

"It was just a stupid joke," Blaine says desperately. Kurt just shakes his head.

"No, it wasn't," Kurt sniffles. "It was hate, pure and simple. And what was Quinn saying to you? A dare? Was that all that I was to you?"

"No!" Blaine says, but then stops. They've been honest with one another, this whole time, and he doesn't want to ruin it. "That's what it started as, but. . .I don't care about the bet! I care about you!"

"Yeah, right," Kurt hisses. "You know what, I was better off before I even knew you. I've got enough on my plate, I don't need more people messing with my heart!"

He stomps off, leaving Blaine just standing there. And he doesn't know why, but he's never felt more alone in his life.

Xxx

Kurt is sitting on the front porch, wrapped up in an old afghan that still smells like his mom when Burt comes home. He stares at his son for a moment. . .the way that his eyes catch the light, the hair glinting golden in the sun. . .he looks like his mother, in that moment, and Burt's heart clenches.

His son has already had such a rough life. . .he's been dealt a hard pack of cards, losing his mother at a young age, and being born in Ohio, and having a mechanic as a father, and being teased and bullied every day just for being himself. . .Burt clutches the paper in his hand a little nervously.

"So, tell me about the dance," he says awkwardly. "How. . .uh. . .how was it?"

"Fine," Kurt says. "I don't really want to talk about it."

Burt sighs, and sits down beside him. He hates seeing the look of pain on Kurt's face. He hates tha tit's been there for so many years now. He wonders when his son stopped being a little boy, and started becoming a man.

"Listen, Kurt. . ." he says, awkwardly clearing his throat. "I know Ohio hasn't treated you well. I know it's been rough for you here. I just. . .I hope things are better in New York."

Kurt peers up at him, vulnerable and so young in that moment that it almost breaks his father's heart. "New York?" he breathes out, throaty and soft. "But I thought. . ."

"Carole and I had to make some shifts in money," Burt says. "Take out a second mortgage on the house, but. . .you're going to NYU."

The grin on Kurt's face totally makes up for the fact that Burt isn't going to be eating any steak for the next few years, and the way they'll be cutting back on cable.

Xxx

Blaine is sitting in English class, studiously avoiding looking at Kurt, when the teachers asks for volunteers to read their sonnets. Blaine wants to read his. . .he wants to have the courage to raise his hand. IT's not that he doesn't think it's good. . .it's very good, but it's all about Kurt, and he can't stand to read it and face rejection again.

I've been looking for you forever. . .

He must have zoned out for a minute, because the next thing that he knows, Kurt is standing in front of the room, staring at a crumpled piece of paper. He clears his throat and begins to read.

"I hate the way you talk to me

And the way you gel your hair

I hate the way your socks don't match

I hate the way you stare

I hate your stupid serenades

And the way you read my mind

I hate you so much it makes me sick

It even makes me rhyme

I have the way you're always right

I hate it that you won't even try

I hate that you won't just come out

I hate that you made me cry

I hate it when you're not around and the fact you didn't call

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you

Not even a little bit, not even close, not even at all"

Blaine can't do anything as he watches Kurt run out of the room. He just sits there, as all of the room turns to look at him. He just stares straight ahead, when he realizes.

Kurt likes him, too. Kurt doesn't hate him, he's just scared, and lonely, and hurt.

So Blaine stands up, turns around, and faces his classmate. "Yeah," he says. "I'm gay. And I think I'm a little in love with Kurt Hummel.

Xxx

All in all, Kurt thinks that it's been a pretty good. He hasn't been slushied. Finn and Rachel sat with him at lunch, and talked to him about possibly trying out for the Warblers. Sam had partnered up with him in gym to play tennis, and Santana and Brittany had been his lab partners. Nobody had shoved him into a locker or made fun or him, or anything.

He'd read his poem to Blaine, and it felt good to get everything off his chest. He thinks he's going to be okay with this. He's going to finish senior year with his head held high, and then next year he's going to escape to New York City, and everything's going to be perfect.

So he has a little bit of a smile on his face when he reaches his car. He opens it up, and stars at his front seat. There's something there. . .an envelope. . .frowning, he reaches down and opens it.

Two tickets to see Wicked in Cleveland. His mouth drops open. He can _feel_ someone staring at him, and when he turns around he sees Blaine, standing there with a nervous smile on his face.

"Two tickets?" he asks.

"Yeah," Blaine says. "I was thinking you could take a date. I mean. . .take me."

Kurt can't keep the smile off his face, and he doesn't push Blaine away when the other boy moves forward to kiss him. "in the middle of the parking lot?" he asks shyly.

"Obviously," Blaine says. "I want everyone to see me kiss my hot boyfriend."

Kurt can't seem to stop grinning, because they are in the middle of the parking lot. Because there's no hiding a kiss, and because Blaine's arms are still around him.

"You know," he says. "You can't just buy me tickets to Wicked every time we get into a fight."

"I know. But then theres _Les Miserables_, and _Cats_ and _Phantom of the Opera_. . ." Blaine nuzzles his face into Kurt's neck, and Kurt is certain that his stomach shouldn't' be jumping all over the place. Because Blaine's implied that there will be more fights, which means there will be a future, which means. . .

But then they're kissing again, and nobody is jeering or throwing slushies or bullying. And there are butterflies, and fireworks.

Kurt's pretty sure that he can get very used to kissing Blaine.


	3. Hummel's Anatomy

**A/N: Branching out from just revisions of movies to dropping the characters in to TV shows, too. Because, really, this is just a massive collection of AUs. Some of you may recognize this: it was originally posted under a different title, but then I remembered that I had this posting, so I'm deleting the old one (sorry!) for better consolidation!**

**This one is our boys in Grey's Anatomy. Originally I was going to have Blaine be a peds resident, but then I realized. . .there are already a couple of fics out there with that (I suppose because it's obviously so perfect!) so I had to alter it a little. Enjoy!**

Kurt really, really, really needs some coffee right around now. He had early morning rounds – although, really, who considers 3 a.m. to be early morning rather than a late evening is beyond him – and he'd had to cover for Santana's late night rounds. He's nearing the 24 hour mark and all that he wants to do is go home, crawl under his covers, and sleep for his full rest period. Unfortunately, he can't do any of that until after he's finish his last eight hours.

Of course, all of his friends are coming off a night off, and are as perky, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he's ever seen them. Sebastian's styled his hair within an inch of its life, as usual, and is sporting a brand new and rather impressive hickey on the left side of his neck. He keeps smirking at everyone as he takes far longer to change into his scrubs than is strictly necessary. Mike is humming and dancing around the dressing room, doing a little twirl each time that he has to reach into his locker. Rachel's even bothered to put on lipgloss, and she gives him a warm hug when she walks in.

In this moment, Kurt hates all of them.

"Did you hear the news?" Mike asks nonchalantly, crossing the Velcro on his shoes. He takes Kurt's complete lack of response for an affirmative answer, and continues on a moment later. "We're getting a new cardio attending today."

"I hear he's absolutely gorgeous," Sebastian agrees. "Hopefully he bats for our team, eh, Hummel?"

Kurt rolls his eyes, and continues to attempt to fit an entire granola bar into his mouth at one time. Normally he would be disgusted by his utter lack of manners, but at this point he needs the energy, the sustenance, and dear _God_ does he ever need the chocolate.

Rachel gasps at their colleagues comment. "Sebastian! You can't just. . .you can't just have a relationship with an attending."

"Oh, honey, sex isn't a relationship."

Rachel's eyes almost cross at that comment, and she lifts one hand to her breast, the very picture of a distressed Southern gentlelady. Kurt snorts. It would play out a lot better if they weren't in the middle of Chicago, where women, though as unfailingly polite and pleasant as any of the Midwestern men around, aren't exactly fainting damsels. Sometimes Kurt thinks that Rachel is more suited to life in the south, where her colleagues and patients might give her a kiss on the back of the hand. Then again, with her histrionics, she's probably better off on a Broadway stage, or accepting an Academy Award.

"I don't know that you can really talk," Mike says. "Aren't you in a relationship with Hudson?"

She lifts her nose and snorts indelicately. So much for being prone to the vapors. "That is my personal business."

"Besides," Sebastian says, _finally_ pulling on a shirt and closing his locker. "Hudson's just an E.M.T."

"E.M.T.s are some of the most important first responders," Rachel huffs. "For someone who wants to be a trauma surgeon, you should show a little more respect for the people responsible for finding and rescuing your patients."

"They're overpaid preschool teachers," Sebastian says. "All they do is put a band-aid on people's boo-boos and wait for a real doctor to treat them."

Rachel's hands have balled into a fist, and Kurt almost has to chuckle at the image in front of him. Sebastian's a pretty tall guy to begin with, and Rachel is absolutely _tiny_, so the sight of her, shaking with fury, ready to go at the other man is just ludicrous to begin with. Normally, Kurt would secretly relish all of the drama (though, of course, he'd have to roll his eyes and pretend to disdain it – he _does_ have a reputation to maintain, after all) but right now he's just tired and cranky, and wants to go home. A fight carries with it the remote possibility that he'll have to stay late to write a report, or speak to the Chief of Surgery. Neither are a pleasant experience on any day, but today in particular he thinks he would rather die.

He grabs Rachel's arm and begins towing her out of the room to begin rounds. "He's not worth it," he says. "Overconfident meerkat face is just going to fail his boards at the end of the year, and everybody knows it. So next year, when we get to move up, he'll still just be an intern."

"I suppose," Rachel says, a little doubtfully. She flicks her long, brown hair over one shoulder. Kurt can tell that she's still a little miffed, and he doesn't blame her, not really, but they've been around Sebastian for almost a year now. She should be used to it.

"You're late," Dr. Yang snaps at them when they arrive to pick up their charts. Kurt just manages to reign in an eyeroll, because he knows perfectly well that they are not late, thank you very much. Dr. Yang just runs everything five minutes ahead of time, and no matter how often she's told that she has to follow the same clocks as everyone else in the hospital, she steadfastly refuses to do so, at least when it comes to her interns. Dr. Yang is admittedly brilliant, but Kurt really wishes he'd been assigned to just about anyone else.

"Don't worry about picking up a chart," dr. Yang says. "The nurses will be handling your cases this morning. There was a big fire down on Michigan Ave, and Dr. Hunt's going to need all hands on deck in the E.R."

Sebastian and Mike exchanged a quick high five. "First ten minutes of the day and we're already scrubbing in!" Sebastian crows.

"Really," Rachel sniffs. "Sometimes I swear those two forget that we're operating on real people, not just corpses in the skills lab."

"Burn victims are always some of the best," Dr. Yang is saying. "All sorts of undiagnosed internal injuries, and great for plastics work."

"Yeah," Kurt says wryly. "There seems to be a problem with that at this hospital."

They head down to the pit, grabbing and tying on their gowns as they went. As usual, Kurt tied up Rachel's, and she helped with his. "Do you think. . ."

"Yes," Kurt snapped. "I think that Finn will be there."

"Do you"

"No, it's not a good time to flirt with him."

"But isn't."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"I don't need to, Rach. When it comes to you and the inestimable Finn Hudson, the answer is always no."

Rachel doesn't get the chance to respond, as an ambulance careens in, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The four interns hang back, fingers itching and knees slightly bent, each ready to jump on the first case that looks like it might require surgery. The doors to the ambulance open, and a ridiculously tall man begins wheeling out a gurney.

"I've got it!" Rachel yells.

"She hasn't even seen what the injury is. . ." Mike says slowly, clearly unable to believe that any intern would give up the possibility of surgery.

"Ah," Sebastian points out drolly. "But have you noticed who is pushing the stretcher?"

By this point Rachel, Finn, and the injured person have left the ambulance bay and entered the hospital proper. A second gurney is being wheeled out. The poor figure on it is a mass of burned, red flesh, some of it already flaking off. His right arm is set at an awkward angle, though the EMTs have clearly tried to strap it normally across his chest. There's a glint of white peeking through his forearm.

Unfortunately, Sebastian clearly saw the bone fragment before he did, and leapt forward to claim the case. Dr. Yang was on a walkie talkie, alerting Dr. Hunt to all of the injuries as they came in.

The first ambulance was quickly followed by a second. A stretcher was quickly wheeled out, and Mike ran forward to attend to it. Kurt blinked slowly, irritated at how off he was. Usually he was quicker than this, usually he would have gotten to the arm-bone guy long before Sebastian. He's just tired, that's all. It just isn't fair that he's coming off a shift when everyone else is coming on and this is when there's a freaking fire.

"Number four. Number four!" It takes him a while to notice that Dr. Yang is yelling at him.

"I'm number two," he points out slowly.

"Not today, you're not," she responds. "Number two would have heard me on the first go. Check out the kid. Now."

Kurt looks around bewildered, having no idea who she's talking about. He hadn't seen a kid get off the ambulance, just the EMTs and the gurney and

When he turns, he sees that Mike and the EMTs have stopped just inside the ambulance bay and are watching him closely. It takes a moment – another slow blink (they really shouldn't let anyone work thise 36 hour shifts, they're completely insane, and the 24 hour rest period doesn't make up for it, it just _doesn't_) – and then he realizes that there's only one EMT, and the other guy is a civilian.

A very, very cute civilian, with sweaty, matted dark curls and bright amber eyes peering out from beneath soot. He looks perfectly fine, other than the soot and the occasional cough – probably some smoke inhalation, but certainly no surgery needed, and he considers pointing that out to Dr. Yang. But then he notices that she's still glaring at him, and he thinks that he's better off just finishing out the day and going home. He probably shouldn't be performing surgery anyway.

"Hi," he says, going over to everyone. "I'm Dr. Hummel. Why don't you come with me, Mr. . .um. . ."

"Anderson," The young man says, white teeth shining against smoke-blackened skin. "I can't, though, I'm kind of. . .um. . ."

It's then that Kurt notices that he has his hand pressed against the burn victims chest, fingers clenched tightly around a sodden red piece of fabric. It used to be a dull green color, Kurt thinks, and notices a button ginting dully in the hospital's flurescent lighting. A shirt.

Mr. Anderson is only wearing a tight, white undershirt, mostly grey now, but a nice way to show off his arms.

Kurt shakes his head. "Mike?"

"Got it," the other intern says. He'd been using two hands on the bag, but drops one to place his hand over Anderson's. "Hey, Mr. Anderson, you've got to let go now, okay? Let Dr. Hummel take care of you. We've got this."

Mr. Anderson blinks once, twice, slow and almost unsure. His fingers tighten momentarily on the soaked shirt before releasing. He takes a shuddering breath and steps back. Mike and the E.M.T. instantly begin hurtling down to the back triage room, the one with a crash cart and more gauze than any others. Kurt and Mr. Anderson watch them go.

"He'll be fine," Kurt says after a moment, hoping that he sounds more chipper than he feels. "Come on, let's go check you out."

"Oh, I'm. . .I'm fine," Mr. Anderson says, taking a brief pause in the middle to cough. His entire body doubles over when he coughs, and one fist clutches spasmodically at his side.

"Mmmhmm," Kurt says, placing a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder to guide him toward one of the beds. "That cough of yours isn't a problem at all. Here, I'll hook you up to some oxygen and we'll give you a once over."

The man allows himself to be eased down into a bed, though Kurt makes certain to place plenty of pillows behind his back, keeping his airway open and his lungs free. He quickly obtains oxygen and fits a nasal canula for Mr. Anderson. The other man breathes a quiet "thank you." As Kurt works on that, he tries to gauge the rest of the man's injuries. He doesn't spot any burns, however, and none of this clothing seems scorched. He has a long, thing cut up on arm that's oozing a little bit of blood, but Kurt doubts it needs anything but a quick smear of antibiotics. Mr. Anderson, other than having inhaled a bit of smoke, seems to be perfectly fine.

"I'll have one of the nurses bring you over paperwork in a moment," Kurt mumbles as he finishes and steps back. "I don't see any other. . .that is to say. . .are you hurt anywhere, could you possibly be burned, or. . ."

"Oh, no," Mr. Anderson says. His hands flutter aimlessly around his mid-section. Kurt wonders if he's Italian, with his dark looks and the way he seems incapable of speaking without using his hands. "No, no, I wasn't even in the building."

Kurt lifts one eyebrow. Mr. Anderson flushes – very prettily, Kurt would note, if he weren't currently working and therefore under a strict ethical obligation not to check out his patients.

"I was just driving past, and I noticed a school bus, and I thought. . .I'm a teacher, and I just thought about how I would feel if I were on a school trip and then. . .so I had to run in and help. But really, all that I did was help the kids out, and then I saw that poor guy trapped under a table, so I had to get that out of the way and help him out, and then. . .well, I guess that's it, actually." He huffs out an embarrassed-sounding laugh at the end, lifting his hand and gently running it through his hair. He's avoiding eye contact.

"That's very laudable," Kurt says, his voice low and soft. Mr. Anderson glances up at him – oh, God, through the thickest, longest eyelashes that Kurt has ever seen on a man, and he needs to leave _now_ – and smiles. Kurt takes a deep breath, and manages a tremulous smile back. "I'll have the nurses"

"Um. . ." Mr. Anderson interrupts him. The blush is still high on his cheeks. "I'm sure there's a hospital policy against it, or something, but. . .um. . .I was wondering if maybe you were free after work today. . ."

Kurt bites back the grin that's threatening to take over his face. He coughs a little to gain his composure, before shaking his head regretfully. "Very strict policy against dating our current patients."

He turns to walk out, looking for a nurse who can get Mr. Anderson situated with the multiple papers he'll have to sign before being discharged.

"Dr. Hummel. . .what are former patients?"

Kurt grins, and pretends to think about it. "No," he says slowly. "I don't believe they ever covered that in our briefing. . ."

XXX

"Jackpot!" Sebastian crows when he comes into the locker room after rounds, almost two weeks after the fire. Kurt still hasn't seen or heard from Mr. Anderson, and he's more than a little disappointed. He'd really thought, after his response in the E.R., that the other man would have come back to the hospital at some point, or looked him up in the yellowpages or something.

Fine. That's not the exact truth. He'd been hoping that Mr. Anderson would be sitting in the lobby when he'd gotten off the shift, a bouquet of yellow and red roses and a big cup of steaming hot chocolate (with whipped cream, because his hips could handle a little fat after having been walked around on for 36 hours) and ready to whisk him off to his penthouse apartment on Lakeshore Drive. Even at the time, near-delirious with lack of sleep, however, he had recognize that as being somewhat less than the most likely scenario.

It was probably for the best, however. Boards were coming up, and he really couldn't afford to be spending too much time with a boyfriend. He and Rachel have been cramming almost every night, and Mike's been sneaking flashcards into rounds, tucked into his shoes, his pockets, and once even his boxer briefs. Only Sebastian has seemed relatively unfazed by the upcoming exam, still acting likes his smarmy, smirky self.

"What's the jackpot this time, Timon?" Santana sneers.

"My guy in 262," Sebastian says. "This guy is sex on a stick and has about the tightest ass I have ever seen. Hot damn I would hit that. Mm-mmm."

The other interns all exchange slightly bemused looks.

"I say go for it," Santana says.

"It's against the rules," Rachel hisses.

"Yeah, so is dating an EMT and not filing with HR," Santana shoots back, which immediately shuts Rachel up. "Besides. If the infamous Izzy Stevens and Dr. Karev could get away with it, it can't be too hard."

"Oh, don't worry, the minute this pretty pony gets off bedrest, I'm getting some," Sebastian says. "Might be a little hard right now, though, seeing as he's all tied up to a thousand wires."

Kurt feels a little uncomfortable talking about a patient like this, but being as Brittany and Santana had both missed worked yesterday and Rachel is sporting a brand new piece of bling on her finger, he's pretty confident that the only other avenues for conversation are ones he would like even less. "What's he in for?"

"Liver transplant," Sebastian says. They all whistle out shortly. "I know, right! Not only do I get a tight ass and a dreamy pair of eyes, I get to scrub in on a surgery. You all hate me right now, don't you?"

"Oh, not just now, CW," Kurt says.

"That's pretty much an always feeling," Santana agrees. Sebastian just flicks them off.

XXX

It's two days later and Sebastian, unsurprisingly, has decided to blow off work. He claims that he has the flu, but Kurt has his doubts. It seems a little suspicious that he would come down with the flu mere hours after an ex fuck buddy flew into town. Then again, there's a reason that Kurt barely passed his course in Infectious Diseases.

Real flu or desire to get laid, the fact remains that Sebastian isn't at work and Kurt has the lucky job of checking on all of his pre-op patients. Most of them are fine. Ms. Dalton had pinched his cheeks and called him the most adorable thing she'd ever seen, Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Smith had both been sleeping, all of their numbers well within the range necessary. He only has one more patient to check on before he can clock out. Unfortunately, when he gets to Room 262, it's completely empty.

"Just what I need," Kurt mutters, walking in. He glances around the room, not really knowing what he's expecting to find. It's not like patients routinely hide in dark corners to avoid their doctors checking on them. Especially not when they're scheduled for an early morning surgery the next day.

Kurt really doesn't have the time or patience for this tonight, and he's leaning more and more toward Sebastian not being actually sick, so he pulls out his cell and calls his colleague. Unsurprisingly, it goes straight to voicemail. Kurt grumbles a little, but just hits redial. The third time that he calls, Sebastian finally picks up.

"God, Hummel, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Your patient is missing."

"It's _your_ patient tonight, what the hell are you bothering me for? I have the flu, I'm supposed to be sleeping!" There's a low giggle from the other side of the line, and Kurt just rolls his eyes.

"Whatever, Sebastian. I'm doing you a favor, the least you can do is tell me if you have any idea where he might be."

"Who?"

"The guy you said is sex on a stick, dreamy eyes, and the tightest ass you've ever seen."

There's the sound of a phone being dropped, muffled slightly by what Kurt assumes is a pillow. He can't make out words, but there are raised voices, the sound of something cracking, and a yelp before the phone is picked up. "God, Hummel, you're a total bitch."

"Where's your patient?"

"I don't know, okay! It's not like I kidnapped the guy. Check pediatrics, he wanders down there sometimes."

Kurt hangs up. There's no way that this patient is "wandering down to pediatrics." Granted, he hasn't taken the time to read the file yet, but by the way that Sebastian's been talking, the guy is almost on death's door. Still, it's the only lead he has, and tonight Dr. Bailey is in charge of the interns and the last thing he wants to do is go and tell her that he lost a patient.

He notices that the hallways are strangely empty in the pediatrics wing. Usually they're bustling more than the others, with worried parents milling around and overly peppy nurses. There's still Nurse Hopkins at the desk, dutifully manning the phones, but the overall atmosphere is extremely subdued. He hopes that one of the babies hasn't passed. . .it always puts a damper over the entire wing when that happens.

Now that he's here, he doesn't really know how he's supposed to look for the patient. He can't very well start busting into the various rooms, and he highly doubts that a guy waiting for a liver transplant would wander all the way down here to use a bathroom. The confusion must be showing on his face, because Nurse Hopkins calls him over, beckoning with one large, meaty hand.

"Can I help you with something, hon?"

"Yes, I. . .I know this is going to sound a little crazy, but I'm actually looking for a patient."

"Oh," Nurse Hopkins smiles and nods. "Blaine. Of course. He's down in the playroom."

"O. . .kay," Kurt says. The nurse is still smiling at him, and he waves awkwardly and heads toward the playroom. There's a soft sound of music playing as he nears it, the not-quite-in-tune strains from the hospital piano.

"_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey_. . ."

There's actually a small crowd gathered around the room, two of the on-duty nurses standing in the hallway. More confused than ever, Kurt gently brushes by them and enters the room.

And freezes.

He's there. Mr. Anderson, teacher-hero who darts into burning buildings and doesn't bother to check in after asking a guy out for a date is sitting at the piano bench, smiling weakly to a little girl next to him, skin sallow and jaundiced, but still perfectly on key. The little girl giggles as he finishes the song. He closes his eyes, and gently puts one hand on her head. Kurt clears his throat.

"Mr. Anderson?"

His head jerks around, paling a little more at the sudden movement. When his eyes light on Kurt's, his face lights up inot the brightest smile Kurt has ever seen. His stomach does a quick little flipflop, a pancake-flipping sensation that lands heavy at the bottom of this gut. He can't believe that he hadn't noticed anything wrong with the man when he'd been in three weeks ago for the smoke – the soot and the smoke-reddened eyes had kept him from noting the symptoms of liver disease.

"Dr. Hummel!"

Kurt huffs a little, moving forward to fuss over the other man and to check that his IV lines are all in their proper position. He's close enough to smell the other man's shampoo, the dry, chalky smell that he associates with all of the hospital products.

"I. . .uh. . .expected to see you a little while ago," he admits lowly. He reaches out a hand and helps Mr. Anderson to his feet, supporting a portion of the other mans weight. There's a soft outcry from the children as they notice that their evening entertainment is being taken away, and Mr. Anderson takes a moment to smile and wave at each child and to promise to come back after his operation.

"Sorry," he says gently, leaning a little more heavily on Kurt as they hobble down the hallway back to his ward. "But you did say that I had to be a _former_ patient. And since I knew I was checking in for the surgery in just a week or so. . ."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt asks. "I was doing your medical history, I asked. . ."

Mr. Anderson coughs. "I. . .uh. . .honestly, I didn't want you to see me like this," he says.

"Like what?"

They freeze in the hallway for a moment, Mr. Anderson staring at him. His eyes are sparkling, even in the horrible hospital lighting, and Kurt realizes that he was wrong in thinking they were amber. They're green, right now, almost startling so, with flecks of gold all along the outside of the iris. They're beautiful, even set against the dull yellow that indicates a failing liver. His eyelashes are as long and dark as Kurt remembers, clumped together slightly as though he's been crying.

"Like. . .like _this_. All sweaty and weak and pathetic. I didn't want to just be the sick guy."

"You're not. . .don't be ridiculous," Kurt says. They continue to walk down the hallway. All too soon they come to room 262, and Kurt is helping Mr. Anderson into his bed.

"Thanks," the patient says, almost sighing in relief as he settles under the thin hospital covers. "It was probably a bad idea to go there tonight, but I just feel so bad for the kids. . .it's rough."

Kurt finally picks up the chart, and begins glancing through it. He frowns a little at some of the numbers. Mr. Anderson – _Blaine_, he notices, is the first name on the file – is sick. Very, very sick. And while of course he already knew that, both from Sebastian's stories in the locker rooms and the very fact that nobody gets a liver transplant just for fun, or because they're feeling a little under the weather, it's still a terrifying sensation to read the print-outs. He looks sick – the sallow skin, the eyes, the way that his hair is sweat=slick against his forehead after having walked just across the hospital. Still.

He clears his throat, as he takes Blaine's temperature. "You really, uh, like kids, don't you?"

"Yeah," Mr. Anderson says softly. "They're still so full of hope, you know? And they're so resilient, so strong. Like the kids in that fire – they were all back at school the next day. And the kids here just want to go home and play in the woods with their friends, and eat chocolate cake, and. . .it's really inspiring."

"Hmmm," Kurt finishes checking the monitors, heart rate, and pulse. He quickly scribbles it all down in the chart and realizes, with not just a little sense of relief, that Blaine should still be fine for the surgery in the morning, despite the late night excursion.

"Dr. Hummel," the voice is soft, almost on the verge of sleep. "If you don't mind my asking. . .why are you here tonight, instead of Dr. Smythe?"

Kurt's stomach drops again, remembering all of the hints that Sebastian had been dropping in the locker room about running away with his hot patient. Only now does his brain make the connection. He tries to buy time, fiddling with knobs at the side of Mr. Anderson's bed that don't actually do anything. He's still fiddling when a broad, warm hand drops over his and closes. It's strong, stable. . .doesn't feel like it belongs to a dying man.

"It's okay," Mr. Anderson says lowly. "I'd much prefer you, anyway. Dr. Smythe is a little. . .um. . .aggressive."

"He's a predatory shark," Kurt snaps before he can stop. He glances up to see the patient smiling at him, biting his lower lip a little to keep the giggles in. "I'm sorry," Kurt says. "That was unprofessional of me."

"I like it," Mr. Anderson says. "You know what I said last time. . .in the ER. It still stands. When I'm a former patient, I'd really like to take you out."

"I would really like that, too, Mr. Anderson," Kurt says. The other man grins.

"Blaine," he says. "Call me Blaine."

"Well then, Blaine. I would like that, too. But first let's just get you through the surgery, ok?"

XXX

It's Tuesday morning, and Kurt should be at home, sleeping. He should be enjoying this all-too rare day off, or if not that, he should be sequestered in the library, frantically trying to cram some last minute info into his mind in preparation for the Boards. Instead, however, he's sitting in the hospital lobby, nervously tapping his feet, a bouquet of yellow and red roses hanging loosely in his hands.

"Hey, Kurt!"

Rachel has walked almost all the way past him before she stops, slowly turning around, a look of clear confusion on her face. "Kurt? What are you doing out here? Are you waiting for someone?"

"I. . .uh. . ."

As per usual, however, Rachel doesn't actually need someone else to speak to keep up a conversation. Her hands immediately fly to her mouth. "Oh my! Are you and Sebastian. . .?"

"Me and Seb. . .what? No! What would make you think that?"

"Oh." Rachel lets out a long sigh. "oh, thank goodness. He's the only other gay guy that I know who works here." She pauses and looks up at him. "But if you aren't waiting for Sebastian, who _are_ you waiting for?"

Kurt scuffs his feet a little on the ground and mumbles.

"I'm sorry, Kurt, but you have to enunciate better if I'm suppose to understand you."

"I'm waiting for visiting hours."

"What? Why?"

At first, Kurt assumes that she's still being her normal, judgmental self. But then when he considers her words, it makes a lot of sense. He's a doctor. He has a security pass. If he were working, he could just walk right in to Blaine's room, so what on earth is keeping him from doing that right now?

"Thanks, Rachel," he says, patting her on the arm.

"What did I do? I mean. . .you're very welcome."

Kurt hurries up the stairs and down to room 262. The flowers feel a little heavier in his hand with every step. It's a stupid gesture, and it's inappropriate and highly unprofessional, and he really shouldn't be here, and he should just turn around and. . .and. . .

There's laughter, and two voices coming from the room. Probably one of the doctors, Kurt assumes, as he steps in, the flowers feeling like a heavy weight. Maybe it's Sebastian, although the voice hadn't sounded familiar. . .

As he rounds the corner he's relieved to see Blaine, sitting up in bed, amber-green eyes dancing and sparkling like always, his smile broad and without a worry. Sitting at the end of his bed is a man even _more_ attractive, which is really unfair, Kurt thinks, followed up by a quiet _oh_.

Oh.

He's never had to wonder if Blaine was gay . . .that was clear from their first meeting. And he'd assumed that the other man was available. But, finally separated from his earlier naivetee, that had carried him through college and med school, he realizes that "available" doesn't' necessarily mean "single." It doesn't mean he's not seeing anyone, or doesn't have "special friends" as Sebastian likes to phrase them, or doesn't have an incredibly, insanely good-looking ex in the wings who will swoop in and rescue him after a life-threatening condition and surgery.

It's for the best, Kurt tries to remind himself. He has to study for the Boards. He needs to figure out fellowship opportunities. He needs to do a solo surgery and he can't do all of that if he's wasting time pining over a guy.

"Dr. Hummel!"

Unfortunately, while he's been having an existential crisis, Blaine has noticed his presence. There's something soft in the other man's expression, a gentleness that wasn't there a moment ago, and he beckons for Kurt to enter.

"I thought. . .uh. . .I didn't know you worked today."

"I don't," Kurt admits. He awkwardly begins putting the bouquet into a vase, filling it with water from the room's sink, and placing it beside Blaine's bed. "I just wanted to check in on you."

"Wow," the stranger says enthusiastically. "Really top notch staff they have here. Will there be flowers in my room when I go back?"

It's only then that Kurt notices what the other man is wearing – or not wearing, as the case is, and he's wearing the hospital issued soft sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Not exactly what most visitors wear, and Kurt's a little ashamed that he hadn't instantly honed in on attire.

"Dr. Hummel, this is my brother, Cooper," Blaine says, still smiling with an almost starstruck quality. "He. . .um. . .he donated a portion of his liver."

"Oh," Kurt says, almost dumb with surprise. And then, a moment later. "Oh. Oh! Hello, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Hummel," Cooper says, a sly look in his eyes as he glances between Kurt and his brother. "So, you and the squirt –"

"Don't call me that."

"You his doctor?"

"Um, no, I'm not," Kurt says. "I mean, I was. But I'm not."

"He's the one I told you about," Blaine says insistently. "After the fire. He was the one in the E.R."

"He was. . .oh!" Cooper's mouth drops open. "You're Doctor McSexy!"

Kurt's mouth drops open and Blaine groans. Cooper just seems delighted.

"Blaine! Good eyes, bro! He _is_ pretty cute. And totally your type!"

"Just kill me now," Blaine says. "Cooper, could you just. . .I don't know. . ._leave_?"

"Oh, I see how it is," Cooper says, still chortling a little. "Donate half a liver and you still get kicked out for a piece of tail."

"Oh my _God_, _Cooper_."

The older man leans over and tousles Blaine's curly hair, before turning to Kurt and holding out a hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Dr. Hummel McSexy," he says, an impish grin on his face. He winks once and then sashays out, or does his best attempt, given he's pulling an IV line with him.

"Dr. Hummel, I'm _so_ sorry about him," Blaine says, his eyes wide open, and Kurt is pleased to see that already the yellow poison is retreating from the whites. "That was completely inappropriate."

"Did you really call me Dr. McSexy?" Kurt asks, and when Rachel asks him later, he most definitely will _not_ tell her that he bats his eyes flirtatiously. Blaine blushes, which is plenty of confirmation. "It's okay," Kurt says. "We talked about you, too. I called you The Teacher Hero. Sebastian called you sex on a stick. Rachel called you cutie-patootie."

Blaine groans again. Kurt can't stop the laugh. "Well," Blaine says after a moment, glancing at the flowers. "It was really nice of you to come visit. You didn't have to do that."

"Actually," Kurt says softly. "I think I kind of did. Besides, I had to make sure that you're free next week Thursday."

"Next week. . .why?" Blaine asks.

"Because word around the nurses station is that you'll be discharged then. And I believe you still owe me a date."

Blaine grins, and suddenly Kurt doesn't care so much about a stupid test, or scrubbing in for a silly surgery. "I think you're right, Dr. Hummel."

"Call me Kurt."

XXX

Blaine doesn't show up in the lobby holding a bouquet before their date. He doesn't bring flowers, or dress up fancy. He's just wheeled to the front of the hospital, where the nurses give him hugs, and hand him a few handmade cards from the kids, and elicit his promise to come back and visit and play for everyone. And then he stands up, accepts Kurt's hand and help, and steps into a taxi.

He does, however, hold Kurt's hand for the entire car ride to the restaurant, and stares at him lovingly throughout all of dinner, and sings softly in his ear when they say good-bye. His hair still smells like the hospital that night.

On their next date, it smells like raspberries.

**A/N: Coming up next. . .Game of Thrones. Wah-wah-waaaaaaah.**


	4. A Song of Kurt and Blaine

**A/N: Sorry, this one ended up being longer than anticipated, so it will be in three parts. It's more of a fusion than a retelling of a story - but in all fairness, Game of Thrones is a little too expansive to retell with our favorite boys. Enjoy!**

The first day on the road had actually been somewhat interesting. In sixteen years, Kurt has never been further from home than to Acorn Hall, which isn't saying much at all, being as Lord Smallwood and his family open the keep every other moon to thank the landsfolk for their work and tithes. Kurt's been inside the old, stone curtain walls twice with his father. For all that, it's only about a half days ride, so when Yoren had taken them past the halls of Acorn Hall and on to High Heart, it had been somewhat exciting, despite the discomforts of being on the road.

He also has to be thankful, he supposes, that Yoren had quickly taken him out of the cage that houses the rest of the new recruits. The wandering crow hadn't been particularly courteous about it, but on the second claim of "fairy boy" and the harsh knuckles to Kurt's cheek, even the foul-smelling, ugly old man had taken pity on him. Still, the harsh oak seat of Yoren's carriage isn't much better and the smell is, if possible, even worse.

"You know," Kurt says mildly on the second day. "You could just leave me here."

"What's that, boy?" Yoren asks, swiveling around to stare at Kurt with his deep-sunk eyes. The boy shivers a little, noticing a small white bug make its way between the other mans oily locks of hair, skitter across his forehead, and disappear above the collar of his thick, wool coat.

"You could just leave me here?" Kurt tries again, attempting to make his voice more forceful.

"Here?"

"By the side of the road. I'm sure I could make my way to Riverrun on my own. I'm really sorry about taking the bread. I've learned my lesson. Won't do it again."

"Eh," Yoren snorts, and turns back to face the road. "What care have I for whether you've learned a lesson or not? My job's to deliver you to the wall."

"Right, yes, I know," Kurt says, trying to be agreeable. His life literally depends upon getting the other man to trust him, and as much as he wants to run screaming (seriously, has Yoren ever even _heard_ of bathing? Has anyone on the Watch?) he knows that he has to appear mild and well-mannered. "It's just. . .the Night's Watch is the last defense for Westeros against what lies beyond. And let's be honest. . .I'm no ranger. I can't fight."

"Neither can they," Yoren says, a disdainful glance over his shoulder. Kurt shudders a little, and doesn't turn to look himself. He knows who is back there – a pair of orphans, a few year's younger than himself. A street urchin, two male prostitutes, the man who shot a deer on King Robert's Land, a triad of thieves, a burglar, and two murderers. Kurt knows very well who is back there, and he still has the bruise on his cheek to prove it.

"Yes, and that's my point!" he says eagerly. "Even they are better fighters than I. Nobody wants me defending the realm."

"Nor them, neither," Yoren snorts. "The Watch isn't what it used to be, boy. We are the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. Once we were that – knights and soldiers. Now we're poor farmers and criminals. No doubt you'll fit right in."

"But. . .but. . ." Kurt is desperate at this point. To the west, he can just make out the tall towers of Riverrun, black against the setting sun. "But I can't ever be a Ranger. I have a horrible sense of direction!"

Yoren snorts, and pulls at the reigns, turning the scabby donkeys to turn toward the King's Road. "Never thought you'd be a Ranger," he says. "It's the Stewards for you, lad, I have no doubt. Now stop your sniveling. You don't want me to have to fear you running off, do ye?"

"No," Kurt sulks.

"Good," Yoren says, almost amiably for him. "I like a bit of company, a time, and I'd hate to put you back in there, to get chewed alive by the likes of them."

That night, lying on the hard, scratchy crabgrass that lines the gravel of the King's Road, Kurt stares up at the sky. It's cloudy, and he can't see a single star. His dad used to tell him that adventurors use the stars to chart their course – they read the twinkling lights above like natures' own map. Carole, the town midwife, believes that the stars are a thousand angels, looking over them. And Will Schuester, the halfwit excuse for a blacksmith, believes that the stars are the old gods, who watch at night and return to the trees by days.

Kurt doesn't care what the stars really are, he just wishes they were there right now, just wishes that there was something familiar. He doesn't know what the wall is, not really, he's only heard the vague tales about it from people in the village. It's made of ice, or maybe of brick, or maybe of the cold, blue blood of the strange creatures that live on the other side. It's always winter there, and that's why the crows wear the black capes at all times. It's war. It's boredom. The men of the watch are criminals, are noble warriors, are cannibals, are wraiths. He doesn't know what to expect when he gets there, but based on flea-bitten, rotten-smelling Yoren and the brutes in the prison cage being dragged behind them, he doesn't have much hope.

He wishes he hadn't stolen the bread, wishes that he had just asked Will for it, instead. The worst of it is, had he done it any other weekend, it would have been fine. When Will realized that it was Kurt who took the mornings loaves, and that he only wanted it as something to soothe his father's stomach, he'd been happy to hand them over. But Yoren was there, and the town magistrate knew the law as well as anyone – commit a crime, and you have two choices: pay the price, or join the Night's Watch. With Yoren staying in the town that weekend, there was no choice.

And Kurt couldn't stand the idea of losing his hand, of never playing the lute again, never being able to sew, to tailor, to knit and sign and do his hair.

So now he's to go the Wall, to say his oath, and perhaps to never do those things anyway.

Xxx

The Wall is cold. It's cold, and it's forbidding, and it's downright ugly. Upon arriving, he's given a thick wolf pelt to use as a blanket, a pair of black breeches and a black tunic. He won't get the cloak until he says the words. He's given a long wooden stick and directed to the practice yards, in reality nothing more than a frozen-over piece of turf, the ground has hard and unyielding as ice.

"Get yer asses up!"

Kurt glances toward the source of the voice – a man, who looks to be around forty, with eyes blacker than midnight and hair not a shade lighter. He's the only one in the practice ring carrying an iron sword – Kurt and the others, also new recruits, he assumes, are armed only with sticks.

"Who's the newest here?" the man growls. A boy standing next to Kurt points at him.

"This one, Ser Alliser."

The man's eyes settle on Kurt, and one side of his thin, slash of a mouth quirks up.

"Oh, a pretty one, eh?"

A pair of boys across the ring from Kurt chuckle at that. He can barely spare them a glance, too intent on staring at the terrifying brute of a man slowly advancing on him. He sees only a flash of blond hair, and a curly head beside it.

"Well, don't worry, boy," Ser Alliser sneers. "We'll beat the pretty out of it. Dave, Sebastian, Jeff, Finn, and Blaine. Let's teach pretty boy how to survive in the North."

The tall boy nudges Kurt in the back, before taking his sword and going to stand beside four others, all probably the men that Ser Alliser called. They talk to each other briefly, as Kurt shifts from foot to foot. He isn't stupid, and as much as he had hid from the other townsboys when they went to play with William Schuester's weapony, he can make a fair guess as to what's happening. He glances in terror at everyone else in the practice yard. It looks like Ser Alliser has called out all of the other youths – the rest of the men, weather-beaten and with dead eyes, are all quite a bit older.

"Sorry about this," a blond boy says, shrugging a little. "We all have to do it on the first day." With no more warning than that, he swings out with his stick, rapping Kurt sharply on the upper arm and wrist in quick successive. Kurt gasps, and reflexively opens his hand, the wooden stick falling to the ground. A few of the men chuckle. The blond just shrugs apologetically.

"Pathetic," Ser Alliser snorts. "Well enough done, Jeff, but a tree would put up a better fight than this one."

The next boy to step forward is absolutely huge. Kurt trembles a little as he picks up his stick. He takes two steps backward, but that's enough to run in to another of the recruits, who shoves him sharply in the back. He whimpers a little, as he's forced to face the bear of a man. Until Jeff, who had seemed grim but nice enough, Dave is glaring at him, piggish little eyes focused in a broad, meathead face. He advances inexorably. Kurt whimpers, and throws his sword down, hoping that a forfeit is allowed.

Dave just laughs, lifts his sword, and brings it down with a sharp _slap_ against Kurt's still-sore wrist. He hits it again, and this time Kurt hears, and, _oh by the Seven feels_ a sharp crack just under the skin. He screams a little and clutches it with his other hand. Dimly, he hears someone yelling "enough" and Ser Alliser instructing Dave to continue.

There's another sharp, searing pain on his shoulder, and Kurt doesn't understand how the wood hasn't been broken when there's all this force, and that a sharp rap against his temple. There's warm liquid running across his face, and when Kurt blinks he sees droplets of red sticking to the ends of his eyelashes. He glances up at Dave, who's slightly red-faced now, but that tyrannical look of pure hatred is still in his eyes.

"Enough!" Kurt hears again, and then there's a body between him and Dave, and all he can see are a tattered pair of black breeches and a patchwork guilt.

"Princess, if you don't get out of the way, you'll be next," Ser Alliser snarls. Kurt reaches up to brush the blood off his brow. He hears the sharp slap of wood hitting skin, and whoever is trying to protect him takes a step back. It's only then that Kurt notices his hands, balled in tight fists at his side. Whoever has stepped in to save him has, rather stupidly, done so without first arming himself.

"Sebastian!" The boy cries. Kurt stands up, holding his wrist tightly to his chest. He may want nothing more than to crawl under his bed and cry, but he's a Hummel, by the Seven, and nobody pushes a Hummel around. He looks to the ground to find his stick. He reaches down to grab it, fingers spasmadocially missig the first time he tries. When he's standing again, however, it appears to be mostly over. Dave is still standing there, chest heaving, small puffs of air coming out of his nostrils. He no longer looks like a bear, but like an oxen, now. Heaving and puffing and ready to attack.

Two boys are standing in front of him, reverse images of one another. One is tall, and fair, the other short and dark. The tall one is holding a pair of sticks and whistling idly, while the second has crouched down into a boxer's stance, lightly moving from one foot to the other.

"Care to fight now, Karofsky?" the boy asks. "Just you and me, fist to fist. You've still got a hundred pounds on me, so it should be easy."

Dave, for his part, seems suddenly uneasy, and as unbelieveable as it is to Kurt, he shrugs his shoulders and steps back. "Ser Alliser isn't teaching us to fight like street rats," he says. "He's teaching us to fight like nights."

Kurt snorts, the idea of this pathetic lot ever being anything like a knight being incredibly laughable. The two boys who stepped in for him both turn to glance at the source of the laughter, the taller one disdainfully, and the shorter with a bit of a grin to his mouth. Ser Alliser coughs.

"Thank you, David," he says. "But Blaine, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"That was completely unfair," the shorter boy responds, drawing himself up to his full height in a way that is almost comical. "You have to know that he couldn't stand up against Dave. You're supposed to be teaching us, not beating us up."

Ser Alliser glares at him, as cold as the ice surrounding them and, Kurt thinks, as hard as any granite. "You question my methods?"

"No," the taller boy says mildly. "I don't think he's questioning them, Ser Alliser. I think he's downright disobeying them."

Ser Alliser's eyes turn even deader. "Mouth _shut, _Sebastian. If I teach you nothing here, I will teach you that. Blaine, you may report to the Lord Commander. Inform him of your insouciance. And take the pretty little girl with you – he'll need his dainty wrist bound. Tell the Lord Commander that I can't do anything with women – I can only train men."

The short boy trembles a bit at that, but when the taller boy puts a gentle hand on his shoulder he relaxes, before turning and reaching out a hand to Kurt. "Come on, then," he says. "I'll take you to see Lord Mormont."

Kurt stares at the offered hand. Boys don't hold one another's hands, they don't initiate contact at all, outside of swift handshakes and cuffs on the shoulders. The boy, however, just continues to stare at him, and Ser Alliser makes a pointed coughing sound behind them. Kurt takes a deep breath and, trembling, reaches out his own hand.

The boy's hand closes instantly around his, dry warmth and calluses rubbing against Kurt's own, softer, cooler hand. His fingers twitch spasmadocially for a moment before he returns the grip. The boy smiles at him, glowing embers in the back of his green eyes lighting them to a soft honeysuckle color, and then gives a slight tug. Kurt stumbles a little, unsurprised to hear the laughter and jeers of the other men on the practice field. He allows himself to be towed away.

"My name's Blaine Sand," the boy tells him as they head toward the tallest tower in Castle Black. Kurt smiles tentatively at his ack.

"I'm Kurt Hummel," he says. Blaine glances over his shoulder at that, and grins again.

"Nice to meet you, Kurt. Don't mind Ser Alliser. He's a rotten oaf, but most of the lad's around here aren't like him."

"Really?" Kurt asks darkly, thinking of the hulking Dave who had stared him down only minutes earlier.

"Well. . .half, anyway," Blaine says with a shrug. "Some of the new ones are the worst. But the _real_ men of the Watch, the Rangers especially, they're all amazing. You'll see, Kurt. I know it's a lot to take in, but it's not so bad. You'll fit in eventually."

Kurt huddles a little deeper into his cloak. Between the frigid temperature, the darkness of Castle Black, and the utter brutishness of everyone he's met so far (well, except for Blaine, who seems unfairly _normal_ for the situation) he can't see a single likeable thing. It's better than losing a hand, he tries to remind himself. In the bleak shadow of the Wall, which even in the cold, cold temperature of the North is humidly dripping, it's hard to hold on to that sense of hope.

It isn't far to Lord Mormont's chambers. Blaine abruptly stops them in front of a pair of large oaken doors. He lets go of Kurt's hand – and Kurt, for his part, can't believe that he's been holding it the whole time. Hands balled into tight, heavy fists, Blaine knocks against the door. He isn't just using his hand, though, Kurt notices in fascination. His entire forearm is being flung into the door, creating a loud, booming sound.

A moment later there's a low, bass call of "come in." Blaine smiles at Kurt. It's probably meant to be comforting, but Kurt can see the way it's slipping a little at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes don't crinkle up the way they had before. He reaches out, grabs the heavy-looking door hanger, and pushes the doors open.

Kurt immediately perks up upon entering the room. There is some fantastic natural light coming in from a large window just opposite the door, and he immediately begins imagining all of the work that he could do to make the place better. The heavy drapes just blocked the natural light, and the thick, poorly carved furniture only made the interior oppressive, in particular as it was placed just against the thick, rough hewn stone that made up the entire building. Some nice wall sconces wouldn't go amiss, and instead of the ridiculous bear pelt that covered the floor he would import a nice piece from Dorne. . .

He's drawn out of his designing tangent when he notices that there is another person in the room with him and Blaine. He tries to straighten up, but his posture has always been impeccable, and he just finds himself kind of awkwardly shrugging his shoulders. Kurt tries to take in the man without looking like he's staring – he's a bigger man, old, but with the broad shoulders of a warrior and the shrewd, blue eyes of a politician. He isn't smiling, at all, and beside him, Blaine seems to shrink down into a form even smaller than he already is.

"Mister Sand, should I be surprised to see you here again?"

"Apologies, Lord Commander," Blaine says, his voice lower and softer than in the hallway, when he'd been chatting with Kurt. "Ser Alliser sent us to you. He directed me to inform you of my insouciance, and to inform you that he is unable to train the newest recruit."

A small smile pulls at the Lord Commander's lips as he steps forward to get a better look at them. Kurt shudders a little at the thick, heavy black pelt hanging from the man's shoulders. He knows that the Night's Watch take great pride in their position, but does that really mean that there can't be _any_ color in the castle?

"Insouciant, hmm?" he says. Blaine shrugs.

"Well, it's better than uncouth, or boorish, I suppose, Lord Commander."

"That it is," the man stares at Kurt now, taking him in from the feet to the top of his head. Kurt resists the urge to run a hand through his hair. "Am I to presume that this is the newest recruit?"

"Yessir," Kurt says, extending a hand as politely as possible. "Kurt Hummel, milord. At your service."

Lord Mormont looks curiously at his hand for a long moment, before pointedly ignoring it. Blaine bites his cheek. Kurt leaves his hand out for a moment, heat rising to his face, before he finally lowers it.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Blaine says hurriedly, his voice rising a little in his apparent excitement. "It was his first day, and obvious he's never held a sword in his life. Ser Alliser wanted us to double-team us, and he put him up against Karofsky."

"Ah," Lord Mormont says. "Yes. Sometimes Ser Alliser's methods can be. . .unorthodox."

"They're insane," Blaine mutters under his breath, sneaking a quick glance up, probably to see if the Lord Commander had heard him. Kurt isn't sure what to make of the man himself – he commands all o the Nights Watch, and has dedicated himself to celibacy and a life of soldiering, but he seems not so different from anyone else.

"Kurt," Lord Mormont says. Kurt jerks his head around at the sound of his name. "Do you know how to read or write?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No, my lord."

"Pity," the other man says. "Well, then I suppose you'll have to return to Ser Alliser on the morn."

"Lord Commander," Blaine speaks up. "Perhaps I could teach Kurt? I have some skill in that area, and I can't imagine that Ser Alliser will be pleased to see him on the practice field again."

Cool blue eyes regard both of them for a moment. Kurt's heart leaps up in hope. Anything to avoid having to hold that stick, to face down all of the hatred in the other men's faces. He can't help but remember the recruits that he had ridden up with, though none of them had been on the field with him. Murderers and rapists and common criminals – anything to keep himself out of their reaches.

"Very well," Lord Mormont says finally. "Sand, you will attend the morning sessions, while. . .Hummel, was it? . . .will aid in the kitchen. In the afternoons you will instruct him in his letters, and in the evening you will share the duties with the other recruits."

"Thank you, milord," Kurt says, the words stumbling out of his mouth. Lord Mormont just sighs, and closes his eyes.

"And teach him the proper titles for the Nights Watch," he Lord Commander says.

"Of course," Blaine says quickly. "Thank you, Lord Commander."

The two young men quickly scurry out of the chambers, pulling the door closed behind them. Kurt wants to lean against it and sink down, his knees weak with relief, but Blaine is just pulling him along.

"That's really about the best we could hope for," Blaine says. "Come on, we'd better get to the bunkroom before the others are done with practice. We can put you in the back corner, with Sebastian and me. They should mostly leave you alone back there."

"Thank you," Kurt says fervently. He pauses for a while, as Blaine leads him down the stares and outside. But then, he can't help but ask the question that's niggling the back of his head. "How is it that you know your letters? Since you're a. . .a. . ."

"A bastard?" Blaine glances back at him, no ill will on his face. "It's okay, Kurt. I've no shame in it. My father acknowledged me, and raised me with his own sons until we were ten, or so. Then he apprenticed me to the court bard."

"Really?" Kurt's surprised. He'd assumed – clearly wrongly – that Blaine must have been cast out, or on the streets. He can't imagine why someone who had such a nice position at court would ever choose to enter the Nights Watch. "What are you doing here, then?"

"Hmm? Oh." Blaine smiles again – it seems to be the default expression on his face, which Kurt doesn't mind at all, since it makes his eyes crinkle in a delightful way. This smile is slightly sheepish, almost ashamed. "Uh. . .let's just say that I kissed someone I shouldn't have."

Kurt nods. That makes some sense. Where he's from, dishonoring a noblewoman is an immediate death sentence. If Blaine had been caught, choosing the black would surely have been the preferable option between the two.

He doesn't say anything when Blaine leads him into a long, dark room, lined with hard, low beds. There's a single blanket, neatly folded at the food of each bed. Nothing else, except a pair of clean bedpans in each corner. Kurt must be staring at them.

"In the middle of the night, it can be a bit cold to head outside," Blaine explains. He leads Kurt all the way to the back, to the darkest part of the room. "Here," he says, pointing to the very last bed. "You should sleep there. Sebastian and I have these two beds, next to it, and Wes is across from you. He's a good guy, you'll like him. Nobody will give you any trouble back here."

Kurt nods shortly, and sits heavily upon his bed. It's nearly as hard as a rock, no give to it. He can feel tears rise to his eyes. He can't believe that this is to be his life – though initially he had hoped to somehow escape, or to leave, now that he's here he recognizes how impossible that will be. The wall is thousands of feet high – he can get to the top of it easily enough, he's sure there must be stairs or a winch, as he's seen men patrolling the top, their black cloaks fluttering in the breeze. But even after getting to the top of the Wall, he can't imagine going on the other side. He'd glimpsed it, just briefly, upon arriving. A group of three men, mounted on large, heavy horses, had been walking through a gate that was open. Outside the Wall he'd seen nothing but miles of snow, and a heavy forest just visible. He can't imagine surviving in that wilderness alone.

"Hey now," Blaine says. He settles down beside Kurt, and lays a heavy hand on his knee. Even through the thick wool of his trousers, Kurt can feel the warmth of the other man's hand. "It's not so bad, I promise."

"Just. . .I miss my dad," Kurt says, swallowing back a sob. "And my family. . .and the warmth, and color. I don't know if I can do this, Blaine."

"Sure you can," Blaine says, with a conviction that Kurt wishes he could feel. "You'll see. The brothers are like a family – if we can just hold on through training, until we say our vows. . .you'll have a family again."

Kurt nods, trying to show that he appreciates the kind words, even if they are silly and meaningless. He'll never fit in here – not with the broad, thick-necked men in the practice room, nor with the stern, weather-beaten older men. His best hope is just to lay low, and survive.

Blaine has to leave, to return to the practice yards, but he promises to return and collect Kurt for dinner. He offers Kurt to return with him, if just to watch, but the boy shakes his head. He's better off just avoiding confrontation, and he knows it. If he doesn't antagonize them, maybe they won't bother him. So he lays back on the hard bunk, places his hands under his head, and attempts to fall asleep.

He doesn't expect it to happen, so he's surprised when, some undiscernable time later, he's awakened by Blaine shaking his shoulder, warmth breath ghosting over Kurt's cold skin.

"Come on then, sleepyhead," he says, a kind of gentle compassion in his voice. "Grub's about to be served. You'll feel better with some food in your belly."

Kurt doesn't respond. He doesn't think there's much of anything that will make him feel better, but he's surprised to realize that just being with _Blaine_ makes him feel a little better. The boy peppers him with silly stories about the other recruits at Castle Black as they head to the mess hall. From the way Blaine describes everyone, they're all good-hearted people, prone to doing sometimes silly things.

Kurt expects silence when they enter the mess hall, but it's anything but. The brothers are there, filling up three of the long tables, while the recruits cluster around one end of a fourth. A fifth table lies empty.

"The Night Watch is smaller than it once was," Blaine says softly to Kurt. "Now come on!"

They sit down beside the tall, whistling boy from the practice yard. He promptly cuffs Blaine on the shoulder. "What took you so long?"

"I had to get Kurt," Blaine says. He looks around at the other men sitting at the table. "Guys, this is Kurt. He's going to join the Stewards."

"Really?" a short, foreign looking boy asks. "That's most unusual."

"Well, we couldn't hardly send him back to face the wrath of Ser Alliser," Blaine says.  
>"We?" Sebastian asks. "You're in so tight with the Lord Commander that you make decisions together now?"<p>

Blaine flushes at that, and shoves at the other boy with his shoulder, before grabbing a bowl from the heavy clutter in the middle of the table. He passes one to Kurt, takes one for himself, and then attacks the soup.

Everybody eats the meal as though they're staring but, Kurt can't help but wrinkle up his nose. It's watery and thin, a few, mushy vegetables floating in it, and some unidentifiable meat. It smells like too much dried oregano, and when he takes a bite, none of the flavors make sense. He only finishes half the bowl, at which point Karofsky makes a wisecrack, and the first boy that Kurt had fought that day – Jeff – reached out and happily finished it, despite the loud, complaining cries of the other boys.

After about half an hour, Blaine and Sebastian stand and start to leave. Kurt goes to follow them, when he's interrupted by a hand on his arm. The foreign-looking boy pulls him down to the table. "Best to let them go for a while," he says. Kurt must look confused, because the boy shrugs and continues on, explaining, "they have an _agreement_."

Jeff snickers at that, and grabs a small chunk of bread left-over in Blaine's bowl.

"What do you mean, an agreement?" Kurt asks again. Wes just shrugs, Jeff giggles some more, and, just a little way down the table, Karofsky makes a disgruntled noise.

"Did Blaine set you up with a bed, Kurt?" the foreign boy asks after a moment.

"Yes," Kurt nods. "He did, um. . ."

"Wes," The boy says. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kurt."

Jeff laughs _again_ – clearly a common theme for the boy. "Wes is a bit stuck-up," he says. "It's the noble blood in him. You aren't royal, are you, Kurt?"

Wes sighs. "I wish you would stop bringing that up," he says. "When we're all in the Watch, it won't matter where we came from, or our blood lineage. We'll all be brothers."

"Sure thing," Jeff says amiably enough. "When we're in the Watch. Right now, though, you're the third son of of the second line of the third owners of the Iron Bank, or whatever, and I'm Jeff Nobody whose mum sold him to the wall because she couldn't afford onions."

"Really?" Kurt gasps.

"Not really," Another boy, darker haired, says. "Jeff's story changes every time he tells it. Last time it was because he was caught with the mayor's daughter. Time before that, he joined because he hadn't anything better to do."

"As I said before," Wes says, a little haughtily. "The reaons that bring us here matter not – the importance is that we are now joined by duty."

Jeff and the brown-haired boy make equivalent gagging gestures. Kurt sighs and stands. "I think I'm just going to head to bed."

Jeff shakes his head. "You can't," he says, standing up. "you've got your duties to be done – we all have. You can collect the dishes with me, tonight, until you get your official ones tomorrow."

"Everyone has duties?" Kurt asks, with a raised eyebrow. "But Sebastian and Blaine just left. . ."

"Not everyone does their work in here," Wes says. "You could be assigned anything – cleaning up from dinner, preparing the stables for the night, cleaning up the armory if there's been a Long Ride. . .all of the little things that the Brothers don't bother with. Jeff's suggestion is a good one. Help him to collect the dishes." Wes nudges the dark-haired boy. "Come on, Nick, let's fetch the water."

Jeff is a pleasant companion, chattering on and on as they pick up the dishes from the recruits and carry them back toward the kitchen. It's almost enough to distract Kurt from the dark, heated glares that he is still receiving from Karofsky. He manages to restrain his shivers, but only just. It takes a few dozen minutes to collect all of the cookware, while another half dozen recruits have taken to washing and drying the cookware. Jeff salutes them smartly after Kurt sets down the last empty pot of stew, and they head back out to the bunkhouse.

"Welcome to Castle Black," Jeff says gallantly, just before they enter for the night. "Where the nights are cold and the mornings even colder."

"Thanks," Kurt says. "I'm beginning to get that."

Blaine isn't back from his evening duties, and at first Kurt is nervous. But Wes quickly files in, with a brief nod to Kurt, and within the hour every bunk is filled. Kurt relaxes, as much as he can on the unyielding mattress. As he stares at the ceiling, he tries hard to ignore the hot tears prickling at his eyes.

"Hey."

He turns his head slightly so that he can see Blaine's profile, just out the corner of his left eye. By a trick of the light, he can see Blaine's honey-warm eyes staring at him, though he can't see his lips move as he speaks. Kurt wants to respond, to say he's listeing, but he's afraid that if he opens his mouth all that will come out are his pathetic cries. It's clear that he doesn't need to say anything, however, as a moment later Blaine reaches over, across the small distance between their beds, to clasp Kurt's hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

"Courage."

**COMING SOON: Kurt beings work in the kitchen, Blaine begins teaching him to read and write, and Karofsky continues to lurk around every corner. Plus Benjen Stark returns with the other Rangers!**


End file.
